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I 



ALTEA\US' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY 



HISTORY 



or 



MARIA ANTOINETTE 



■: ;'# 



BY ; . 

JOHN 5. C ABBOTT 



WITH rORTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS 






Copyright 1900 by Hen ry Altemus^jZompany 



PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEA\US COMPANY 




II 







^&M^' 



53128 



I'Wi.: tomb KtCtUEO 

SEP 28 1900 

Copyright entry 

SICOND COPY. 

Uv'^ve^tsrl to 

Ot^Ot« OWISION, 

iJDC T 18 1900 



CONTENTS. 



c— 



CHAPTER T. PAGE 

Parentage and Childhood 1 

CHAPTER 11. 
Bridal Days o 23 

CHAPTER m. 
Maria Antoinette Enthroned 53 ^-^ 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Diamond Necklace 76 

CHAPTER V. 
The Mob at Versailles : 99 

CHAPTER VI. 
The Palace a Prison 121 

CHAPTER VII. 
The Flight 142 . 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The Return to Paris 162 

CHAPTER IX. 

Imprisonment in the Temple = 182 

CHAPTER X. 
Execution of the King 209 

CHAPTER XI. 
Trial and Execution of Maria Antoinette 226 ^ 

CHAPTER Xll. 
The Princess Elizabeth, the Dauphin, and the Princess 

Royal 237 

V 




Maria Antoinette, vi 



The Royal Family Entering the Hall. {Se^ 



ep. 190. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Arrest of the Royal Family at Varennes, 

The Royal Family Entering the Hall 

Tailpiece ..... 

Maria Antoinette, Queen of France 

Headpiece, Chapter I. . . 

The Empress Maria Theresa 

Maria Antoinette Leaving Schoenbruu 

Room in the Palace of Schcenbrun 

Headpiece, Chapter II. 

Louis XVL, King of France 

The Prison of the Bastile 

Louis and Maria at Little Trianon 

Headpiece, Chapter III. 

The Attack on the Bastile 

Festivities at Versailles 

Headpiece, Chapter TV. 

The Bread Riots . 

LaFayette protecting the 

Headpiece, Chapter V. 

The Royal Family in Despair 

Headpiece, Chapter VI. 

Louis XVI. and the Mob 

The Mob Marching to Versailles . 

Headpiece, Chapter VII. 

The Royal Family Entering the Temple, 

Headpiece, Chapter VIII. 



Oiieen 



Frontispiece. 


page vi 




" viii 




' X 




' I 


facing 


' 8 




' 24 


. 


' 22 




' 23 


facing 


'. 32 


*• 


' 40 




' 52 


. 


' 53 


facing 


' 5^> 


• 


'' 75 


• 


' 76 


facing 


^ 64 


u 


' 72 


. 


' 99 


facing 


' 88 


, , 


' 121 


facing 


' 96 


• 


' 141 


. 


' 142 


facing 


' 128 




' 162 



(vii) 



VIU 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



The Princess Lamballe at the Tribunal, facing page 
The Last Farewell . . . '• 

Headpiece, Chapter IX. .... 

Louis XVI. before the Convention, facing 

Maria Antoinette in Prison .... 
Headpiece, Chapter X. • • . . 

The Execution of Louis XYI. . facino- 

Maria Antoinette Leaving the Tribunal, " 
Church of the Madeleine .... 
Headpiece, Chapter XI. .... 
The Queen Summoned to Execution, facins; 
Headpiece, Chapter XII. .... 
Maria Antoinette Going to Execution, facin 
Holyrood Castle ..... 



136 

152 
182 

160 

208 
209 
192 
200 
225 
226 
216 

237 

2.^2 




yfartct Antomett 



The Temple Prison. {Seep. 197.) 



RMM 


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tM 




Ma ^ yl }^' 


^5 


^^ 






^^ 



MARIA ANTOINETTE. 



CHAPTEE I. 

PABENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 

In the year 1740, Charles VI., Emperor of 
Austria, died. He left a daughter twenty - 
three years of age, Maria Theresa, to inherit 
the crown of that powerful empire. She had 
been married about four years to Franeis, Duke 
of Lorraine. The day after the death of 
Charles, Maria Theresa ascended the throne. 
The treasury of Austria was empty. A general 
feeling of discontent pervaded the kingdom. 
Several claimants to the throne rose to dispute 
the succession with Maria; and France, Spain, 
Prussia, and Bavaria took advantage of the new 
reign, and of the embarrassments which sur- 
rounded the youthful queen, to enlarge their 
own borders by wresting territory from Austria. 

The young queen, harassed by dissensions 

at home and by the combined armies of her 

powerful foes, beheld with anguish which her 

1 



2 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

proud and imperious spirit could hardly en- 
dure, her troops defeated and scattered in every 
direction, and the victorious armies of her 
enemies marching almost unimpeded toward 
her capital. The exulting invaders, intoxicated 
with unanticipated success, now contemplated 
the entire division of the spoil. They decided 
to blot Austria from the map of Europe, and to 
partition out the conglomerated nations com- 
posing the empire among the conquerors. 

Maria Theresa retired from her capital as 
the bayonets of France and Bavaria gleamed 
from the hillsides which environed the city. 
Her retreat with a few disheartened followers, 
in the gloom of night, was illumined by the 
flames of the bivouacs of hostile armies, with 
which the horizon seemed to be girdled. The 
invaders had possession of every strong post in 
the empire. The beleaguered city was sum- 
moned to surrender. Eesistance was unavail- 
ing. All Europe felt that Austria was hope- 
lessly undone. Maria fled from the dangers of 
captivity into the wilds of Hungary. But in 
this dark hour, when the clouds of adversity 
seemed to be settling in blackest masses over 
her whole realm, when hope had abandoned 
every bosom but her own, the spirit of Maria 
remained as firm and inflexible as if victory 
were perched upon her standards, and her ene- 
mies were flying in dismay before her. She 
would not listen to one word of compromise. 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 6 

Bhe would not admit the thought of surrender- 
iDg one acre of the dominions she had inherited 
from her fathers. Calm, unagitated, and de- 
termined, she summoned around her, from their 
feudal castles, the wild and warlike barons of 
Hungary. With neighing steeds, and flaunt- 
ing banners, and steel-clad retainers, and all 
the paraphernalia of barbaric pomp, these 
chieftains, delighting in the excitements of 
war, gathered around the heroic queen. The 
spirit of ancient chivalry still glowed in these 
fierce hearts, and they gazed with a species of 
religious homage upon the young queen, who, 
in distress, had fled to their wilds to invoke 
the aid of their strong arms. 

Maria met them in council. They assmbled 
around her by thousands in all the imposing 
splendor of the garniture of war. Maria ap- 
peared before these stern chieftains dressed in 
the garb of the deepest mourning, with the 
crown of her ancestors upon her brow, her 
right hand resting upon the hilt of the sword 
of the Austrian kings, and leading by her left 
hand her little daughter Maria Antoinette. 
The pale and pensive features of the queen at- 
tested the resolute soul which no disasters 
could subdue. Her imperial spirit entranced 
and overawed the bold knights, who had ever 
lived in the realms of romance. Maria ad- 
dressed the Hungarian barons in an impressive 
speech in Latin, the language then in use in 



4 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the diets of Hungary, faithfully describing the 
desperate state of her affairs. She committed 
herself and her children to their protection, 
and urged them to drive the invaders from the 
land or to perish in the attempt. It was just 
the appeal to rouse such hearts to a frenzy 
of enthusiasm. The youth, the beauty, the 
calamities of the queen roused to the utmost 
intensity the chivalric devotion of these war- 
like magnates, and grasping their swords and 
waving them above their heads, they shouted 
simultaneously, '' Moriamur pro rege nosh^o, 
Maria Theresa*^ — "Let us die for our king, 
Maria Theresa. ' ' 

Until now, the queen had preserved a de- 
meanor perfectly tranquil and majestic. But 
this affectionate enthusiasm of her subjects en- 
tirely overcame her imperious spirit, and she 
burst into a flood of tears. But, apparently 
ashamed of this exhibition of womanly feeling, 
she almost immediately regained her com- 
posure, and resumed the air of the indomitable 
sovereign. The war-cry immediately resounded 
throughout Hungary. Chieftains and vassals 
rallied around the banner of Maria. In per- 
son she inspected and headed the gathering 
army, and her spirit inspired them. With the 
ferocity of despair, these new recruits hurled 
themselves upon the invaders. A few battles, 
desperate and sanguinary, were fought, and 
the army of Maria was victorious. England 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 5 

and Holland, apprehensive that the destruction 
of the Austrian empire would destroy the 
balance of power in Europe, and encouraged 
by the successful resistance which the Austrians 
were now making, came to the rescue of the 
heroic queen. The tide of battle was turned. 
The armies of France, Germany, and Spain 
were driven from the territory which they had 
overrun. Maria, with untiring energy, fol- 
lowed up her successes. She pursued her re- 
treating foes into their own country, and finally 
granted peace to her enemies only by wresting 
from them large portions of their territory. 
The renown of these exploits resounded through 
Europe. The name of Maria Theresa was em- 
balmed throughout the civilized world. Under 
her vigorous sway Austria, from the very brink 
of ruin, was elevated to a degree of splendor 
and power it had never attained before. 
These conflicts and victories inspired Maria 
with a haughty and imperious spirit, and the 
loveliness of the female character was lost amid 
the pomp of martial achievements. The proud 
sovereign eclipsed the woman. 

It is not to be supi^osed that such a bosom 
could be the shrine of tenderness and affec- 
tion. Maria's virtues were all of the mascu- 
line gender. She really loved, or, rather, 
liked her husband ; but it was with the same 
kind of emotion with which an energetic and 
ambitious man loves his wife. She cherished 



6 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

bim, protected him, watched over him, and 
loaded him with honors. He was of a mild, 
gentle, confiding spirit, and would have made 
a lovely wife. She was ambitious, fearless, 
and commanding, and would have made a 
noble husband. In fact, this was essentially 
the relation which existed between them. 
Maria Theresa governed the empire, while 
Francis loved and caressed the children. 

The queen, by her armies and her political 
influence, had succeeded in having Francis 
crowned Emperor of Germany. She stood 
upon the balcony as the imposing ceremony 
was performed, and was the first to shout, 
* 'Long live the Emperor Francis I." Like 
Napoleon, she had become the creator of kings. 
Austria was now in the greatest prosperity, 
and Maria Theresa the most illustrious queen 
in Europe. Her renown filled the civilized 
world. Through her whole reign, though she 
became the mother of sixteen children, she de- 
voted herself with untiring energy to the ag- 
grandizement of her empire. She united with 
Kussia and Prussia in the infamous partition 
of Poland, and in the banditti division of the 
spoil she annexed to her own dominions twenty- 
seven thousand square miles and two million 
five hundred thousand inhabitants. 

From this exhibition of the character of 
Maria Theresa, the mother of Maria Antoinette, 
the reader will not be surprised that she should 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 7 

have inspired her children with awe rather 
than with affection. In truth, their imperial 
mother was so devoted to the cares of the em- 
pire that she was almost a stranger to her 
children, and could have known herself but few 
of the emotions of maternal love. Her chil- 
dren were placed under the care of nurses and 
governesses from their birth. Once in every 
eight or ten days the queen appropriated an 
hour for the inspection of the nursery and the 
apartments appropriated to the children ; and 
she performed this duty with the same fidelity 
with which she examined the wards of the state 
hospitals and the military schools. 

The following anecdote strikingly illustrates 
the austere and inflexible character of the em- 
press. The wife of her son Joseph died of 
the confluent smallpox, and her body had been 
consigned to the vaults of the royal tomb. 
Soon after this event, Josepha, one of the 
daughters of the empress, was to be married 
to the King of Naples. The arrangements 
had all been made for their approaching nup- 
tials, and she was just on the point of leaving 
Vienna to ascend the Neapolitan throne, when 
she received an order from her mother that she 
must not depart from the empire until she had, 
in accordance with the established custom, de- 
scended into the tomb of her ancestors and 
offered her parting prayer. The young prin- 
cess, in an agony of consternation, received 



8 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the cruel requisition. Yet she dared not dis- 
obey her mother. She took her little sister, 
Maria Antoinette, whom she loved most ten- 
derly, upon her knee, and, weeping bitterly, 
bade her farewell, saying that she was sure she 
should take the dreadful disease and die. 
Trembling in every fiber, the unhappy princess 
descended into the gloomy sepulcher, where 
the bodies of generations of kings were molder- 
ing. She hurried through her short prayer, 
and in the deepest agitation returned to the 
palace, and threw herself in despair upon her 
bed. 

Her worst apprehensions were realized. The 
fatal disease had penetrated her veins. Soon 
it manifested itself in its utmost virulence. 
After lingering a few days and nights in dread- 
ful suffering, she breathed her last, and her 
own loathsome remains were consigned to the 
same silent chambers of the dead. Maria 
Theresa commanded her child to do no more 
than she would have insisted upon doing her- 
self under similar circumstances. And when 
she followed her daughter to the tomb, she 
probably allowed herself to indulge in no re- 
grets in view of the course she had pursued, 
but consoled herself with the reflection that she 
had done her duty. 

The Emperor Francis died, 1765, leaving 
Maria Theresa still in the vigor of life, and 
quite beautiful. Three of her counselors of 





Maria AHtuinetf^, 



The Empress Maria Theresa. 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 9 

state, ambitious of sharing the throne with 
the illustrious queen, entered into a compact, 
by which they were all to endeavor to obtain 
her hand in marriage, agreeing that the suc- 
cessful one should devote the power thus ob- 
tained to the aggrandizement of the other two. 
The empress was informed of this arrangement, 
and, at the close of a cabinet council, took oc- 
casion, with great dignity and composure, to 
inform them that she did not intend ever again 
to enter into the marriage state, but that, 
should she hereafter change her mind, it would 
only be in favor of one who had no ambitious 
desires, and who would have no inclination to 
intermeddle with the affairs of state ; and that, 
should she ever marry one of her ministers, 
she should immediately remove him from all 
office. Her counselors, loving power more 
than all things else, immediately abandoned 
every thought of obtaining the hand of Maria 
at such a sacrifice. 

Maria Antoinette, the subject of this biog- 
raphy, was born on the 2d of November, 1755. 
Few of the inhabitants of this world have com- 
menced life under circumstances of greater 
splendor, or with more brilliant prospects of a 
life replete with happiness. She was a child 
of great vivacity and beauty, full of light-heart- 
edness, and ever prone to look upon the sunny 
side of every prospect. Her disposition was 
frank, cordial, and affectionate. Her mental 

Z — Antoinette 



10 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

endowments were by nature of a very superior 
order. Laughing at the restraints of royal eti- 
quette, she, by her generous and confiding 
spirit, won the love of all hearts. Maria An- 
toinette was but slightly acquainted with her 
imperial mother, and could regard her with no 
other emotions than those of respect and awe ; 
but the mild and gentle spirit of her father 
took in her heart a mother's place, and she 
clung to him with the most ardent affection. 

When she was but ten years of age, her 
father was one day going to Inspruck upon 
some business. The royal cavalcade was drawn 
up in the courtyard of the palace. The em- 
peror had entered his carriage, surrounded by 
his retinue, and was just on the point of leav- 
ing, when he ordered the postillions to delay, 
and requested an attendant to bring to him his 
little daughter Maria Antoinette. The bloom- 
ing child was brought from the nursery, with 
her flaxen hair in ringlets clustered around her 
shoulders, and presented to her father. As 
she entwined her arms around his neck and 
clung to his embrace, he pressed her most ten- 
derly to his bosom, saying, "Adieu, my dear 
little daughter. Father wished once more to 
press you to his heart. " The emperor and his 
child never met again. At Inspruck Francis 
was taken suddenly ill, and, after a few days' 
sickness, died. The grief of Maria Antoinette 
knew no bounds. But the tears of childhood 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 11 

soon dried up. The parting scene, however, 
produced an impression upon Maria which was 
never effaced, and she ever spoke of her father 
in terms of the warmest affection. 

Maria Theresa, half-conscious of the imper- 
fect manner in which she performed her mater- 
nal duties, was very solicitous to have it under- 
stood that she did not neglect her children; 
that she was the best mother in the world as 
well as the most illustrious sovereign. "When 
any distinguished stranger from the other 
courts of Europe visited Vienna, she arranged 
her sixteen children around the dinner table, 
towering above them in queenly majesty, and 
endeavored to convey the impression that they 
were the especial objects of her motherly care. 
It was not, however, the generous warmth of 
love, -but the cold sense of duty, which alone 
regulated her conduct in reference to them, and 
she had probably convinced herself that she 
discharged her maternal obligations with the 
most exemplary fidelity. 

The family physician every morning visited 
each one of the children, and then briefly re- 
ported to the empress the health of the arch- 
dukes and the archduchesses. This report 
fully satisfied all the yearnings of maternal 
love in the bosom of Maria Theresa; though 
she still, that she might not fail in the least 
degree in motherly affection, endeavored to see 
them with her own eyes, and to speak to them 



13 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

with her own lips, as often as once in a week 
or ten days. The preceptors and governesses 
of the royal household, being thus left very 
much to themselves, were far more anxious to 
gratify the immediate wishes of the children, 
and thus to secure their love, than to urge 
them to efforts for intellectual improvement. 
Maria Antoinette, in subsequent life, related 
many amusing anecdotes illustrative of the 
petty artifices by which the scrutiny of the em- 
press was eluded. The copies which were pre- 
sented to the queen in evidence of the progress 
the children were making in handwriting were 
all traced first in pencil by the governess. 
The children then followed with the pen over 
the penciled lines. Drawings were exhibited, 
beautifully executed, to show the skill Maria 
Antoinette had attained in that delightful ac- 
complishment, which drawings the pencil of 
Maria had not even touched. She was also 
iaught to address strangers of distinction in 
short Latin phrases, when she did not under- 
stand the meaning of one single word of the 
language. Her teacher of Italian, the Abbe 
Metastasio, was the only one who was faithful 
in his duties, and Maria made very great pro- 
ficiency in that language. French being the 
language of the nursery, Maria necessarily ac- 
quired the power of speaking it with great 
fluency, though she was quite unable to write 
it correctly, In the acquisition of French, her 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 13 

own mother tongue, the German, was so totally 
neglected, that, incredible as it may seem, she 
actually lost the power either of speaking or of 
understanding it. In after years, chagrined at 
such unutterable folly, she sat down with great 
resolution to the study of her own native tongue, 
and encountered all the difficulties which 
would tax the patience of any foreigner in the 
attempt. She persevered for about six weeks, 
and then relinquished the enterprise in despair. 
The young princess was extremely fond of 
music, and yet she was not taught to play well 
upon any instrument. This became subse- 
quently a source of great mortification to her, 
for she was ashamed to confess her ignorance 
of an accomplishment deemed, in the courts of 
Europe, so essential to a polished education, 
and yet she dared not sit down to any instru- 
ment in the presence of others. When she 
first arrived at Versailles as the bride of the 
heir to the throne of France, she was so deeply 
mortified at this defect in her education, that 
she immediately employed a teacher to give 
her lessons secretly for three months. During 
this time she applied herself to her task with 
the utmost assiduity, and at the end of the 
time gave surprising proof of the skill she had 
so rapidly attained. Upon all the subjects of 
history, science, and general literature, the 
princess was left entirely uninformed. The 
activity and energy of her mind only led her 



14 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the more poignantly to feel the mortification to 
•which this ignorance often exposed her. "When 
surrounded by the splendors of royalty, she 
frequently retired to weep over deficiencies 
which it was too late to repair. The wits of 
Paris seized upon these occasional develop- 
ments of the want of mental culture as the in- 
dication of a weak mind, and the daughter of 
Maria Theresa, the descendant of the Csesars, 
was the butt, in salon and caf6, of merriment 
and song. Maria was beautiful and graceful, 
and winning in all her ways. But this imper- 
fect education, exposing her to contempt and 
ridicule in the society of intellectual men and 
women, was not among the unimportant ele- 
ments which conduced to her own ruin, to the 
overthrow of the French throne, and to that 
deluge of blood which for many years rolled 
its billows incarnadine over Europe. 

Maria Theresa had sent to Paris for two 
teachers of French to instruct her daughter in 
the literature of that country over which she 
was destined to reign. From that pleasure- 
loving metropolis two play actors were sent to 
take charge of her education, one of whom was 
'a man of notoriously dissolute character. As 
the connection between Maria Antoinette and 
Louis, the heir apparent to the throne of 
France, was already contemplated, some soli- 
citude was felt by members of the court of Yer- 
sailles in reference to the impropriety of this 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 15 

selection, and the French ambassador at Yienna 
was requested to urge the empress to dismiss 
the obnoxious teachers, and make a different 
choice. She immediately complied with the 
request, and sent to the Duke de Choiseul, the 
minister of state of Louis XV., to send a pre- 
ceptor such as would be acceptable to the court 
of Versailles. After no little difficulty in find- 
ing one in whom all parties could unite, the 
Abbe de Vermond was selected — a vain, ambi- 
tious, weak-minded man, who, by the most 
studied artifice, insinuated himself into the 
good graces of Maria Theresa, and gained a 
great but pernicious influence over the mind of 
his youthful pupil. The cabinets of France 
and Austria having decided the question that 
Maria Antoinette was to be the bride of Louis, 
who was soon to ascend the throne of France, 
the Abbe de Vermond, proud of his position 
as the intellectual and moral guide of the des- 
tined Queen of France, shamefully abused 
his trust, and sought only to obtain an abiding 
influence, which he might use for the promo- 
tion of his own ambition. He carefully kept 
her in ignorance, to render himself more nec- 
essary to her; and he was never unwilling to 
involve her in difficulties, that she might be 
under the necessity of appealing to him for 
extrication. 

Instead of endeavoring to prepare her for 
the situation she was destined to fill, it seemed 



16 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

to be his aim to train her to snch habits of 
thought and feeling as would totally incapaci- 
tate her to be happy, or to acquire an influence 
over the gay but ceremony-loving assemblages 
of the Tuileries, Versailles, and St. Cloud. At 
this time, the fashion of the French court led 
to extreme attention to all the punctilios of 
etiquette. Every word, every gesture, was 
regulated by inflexible rule. Every garment 
worn, and every act of life, was regulated by 
the requisitions of the code ceremonial. Vir- 
tue was concealed and vice garnished by the 
inflexible observance of stately forms. An in- 
fringement of the laws of etiquette was deemed 
a far greater crime than the most serious vio- 
lation of the laws of morality. In the court 
of Vienna, on the other hand, fashion ran to 
just the other extreme. It was fashionable to 
despise fashion. It was etiquette to pay no 
regard to etiquette. The haughty Austrian 
noble prided himself in dressing as he pleased, 
and looked with contempt upon the studied at- 
titudes and foppish attire of the French. The 
Parisian courtier, on the other hand, rejoicing 
in his ruffles, and ribbons, and practiced move- 
ments, despised the boorish manners, as he 
deemed them, of the Austrian. 

The Abbe de Vermond, to ingratiate himself 
with the Austrian court, did all in his power 
to inspire Maria Antoinette with contempt of 
Parisian manners. He zealously conformed 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 17 

to the customs prevailing in Vienna, and, like 
all new converts to prove the sincerity of his 
conversion, went far in advance of his sect in 
intemperate zeal. Maria Antoinette was but 
a child, mirthful, beautiful, open hearted, and, 
like all other children, loving freedom from 
restraint. Her preceptor ridiculed inces- 
santly, mercilessly, the manners of the French 
court, where she was soon to reign as queen, 
and influenced her to despise that salutary re- 
gard to appearances so essential in all refined 
life. Under this tutelage, Maria became as 
natural, unguarded, and free as a mountain 
maid. She smiled or wept, as the mood was 
upon her. She was cordial toward those she 
loved, and distant and reserved toward those 
she despised. She cared not to repress her 
emotions of sadness or mirthfulness as occa- 
sions arose to excite them. She was conscien- 
tious, and unwilling to do that which she 
thought to be wrong, and still she was impru- 
dent, and troubled not herself with the inter- 
pretation which others might put upon her 
conduct. She prided herself a little upon her 
independence and recklessness of the opinions 
of others, and thus she was ever incurring un- 
deserved censure, and becoming involved in 
unmerited difficulties. She was, in heart, 
truly a noble girl. Her faults were the ex- 
cesses of a generous and magnanimous spirit. 
Though she inherited much of the imperial 



IS MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

energy of her mother, it was tempered and 
adorned with the mildness and affectionateness 
of her father. Her education had necessarily 
tended to induce her to look down with aris- 
tocratic pride upon those beneath her in rank 
in life, and to dream that the world and all it 
inherits was intended for the exclusive benefit 
of kings and queens. Still, the natural good- 
ness of her heart ever led her to acts of kind- 
ness and generosity. She thus won the love, 
almost without seeking it, of all who knew her 
well. Her faults were the unavoidable effect 
of her birth, her education, and all those 
nameless but untoward influences which sur- 
rounded her from the cradle to the grave. 
Her virtues were all her own, the instinctive 
emotions of a frank, confiding, and magnani- 
mous spirit. 

The childhood of Maria Antoinette was prob- 
ably, on the whole, as happy as often falls to 
the lot of humanity. As she had never known 
a mother's love, she never felt its loss. There 
are few more enchanting abodes upon the sur- 
face of the globe than the pleasure palaces of 
the Austrian kings. Forest and grove, garden 
and wild, rivulet and lake, combine all their 
charms to lend fascination to those haunts of 
regal festivity. In the palace of Schoenbrun 
and in the embowered gardens which surround 
that world-renowned habitation of princely 
grandeur, Maria passed many of the years of 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 19 

her childhood. Now she trod the graveled 
walk, pursuing the butterfly, and gathering the 
flowers, with brothers and sisters joining in the 
recreation. Now the feet of her pony scattered 
the pebbles of the path, as the little troop of 
equestrians cantered beneath the shade of ma- 
jestic elms. Now the prancing steeds draw 
them in the chariot, through the infinitely 
diversified drives, and the golden leaves of 
autumn float gracefully through the still air 
upon their heads. The boat, with damask 
cushions and silken awning, invites them upon 
the lake. The strong arms of the rowers bear 
them with fairy motion to sandy beach and 
jutting headland, to island, and rivulet, and 
bay, while swans and waterfowl, of every va- 
riety of plumage, sport before them and around 
them. Such were the scenes in which Maria 
Antoinette passed the first fourteen years of 
her life. Every want which wealth could 
supply was gratified '* What a destiny!" ex- 
claimed a Frenchman, as he looked upon one 
similarly situated, "what a destiny! young, 
rich, beautiful, and an archduchess! Ma foil 
quel destinSr' 

The personal appearance of Maria Antoin- 
ette, as she bloomed into womanhood, is thus 
described by Lamartine. *'Her beauty daz- 
zled the whole kingdom. She was of a tall, 
graceful figure, a true daughter of the Tyrol. 
The natural majesty of her carriage destroyed 



20 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

none of the graces of her movements; her 
neck, rising elegantly and distinctly from her 
shoulders, gave expression to every attitude. 
The woman was perceptible beneath the queen, 
the tenderness of heart was not lost in the 
elevation of her destiny. Her light brown hair 
was long and silky; her forehead, high and 
rather projecting, was united to her temples by 
those fine curves which give so much delicacy 
and expression to that seat of thought, or the 
soul in woman ; her eyes, of that clear blue 
which recall the skies of the north or the 
waters of the Danube; an aquiline nose, the 
nostrils open and slightly projecting, where 
emotions palpitate and courage is evidenced ; 
a large mouth, Austrian lips, that is, project- 
ing and well defined ; an oval countenance, an- 
imated, varying, impassioned, and the ensem- 
ble of these features, replete with that expres- 
sion, impossible to describe, which emanates 
from the look, the shades, the reflections of 
the face, which encompasses it with an iris 
like that of the warm and tinted vapor, which 
bathes objects in full sunlight — the extreme 
loveliness which the ideal conveys, and which, 
by giving it life, increases its attraction. 
With all these charms, a soul yearning to at- 
tach itself, a heart easily moved, but yet earn- 
est in desire to fix itself; a pensive and intelli- 
gent smile, with nothing of vacuity in it, be- 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. ^1 

cause it felt itself worthy of friendships. Such 
was Maria Antoinette as a woraan. " 

When but fourteen years of age she was 
affianced as the bride of young Louis, the 
grandson of Louis XV., and heir apparent to 
the throne of France. Neither of the youthful 
couple had ever seen each other, and neither of 
them had anything to do in forming the con- 
nection. It was deemed expedient by the 
cabinets of Versailles and Vienna that the two 
should be united, in order to promote friendly 
alliance between France and Austria. Maria 
Antoinette had never dreamed even of question- 
ing any of her mother's arrangements, and 
consquently she had no temptation to consider 
whether she liked or disliked the plan. She 
had been trained to the most unhesitating sub- 
mission to maternal authority. The childish 
heart of the mirth-loving princess was doubt- 
less dazzled with the anticipations of the splen- 
dors which awaited her at Versailles and St. 
Cloud. But when she bade adieu to the gar- 
dens of Schoenbrun, and left the scenes of her 
childhood, she entered upon one of the wildest 
careers of terror and of suffering which mortal 
footsteps have ever trod. The parting from 
her mother gave her no especial pain, for she 
had ever looked up to her as to a superior 
being, to whom she was bound to render hom- 
age and obedience; rather than as to a mother 
around whom the affections of her heart were 



22 



MARIA ANTOINETTE. 



entwined. But she loved her brothers and 
sisters most tenderly. She was extremely at- 
tached to the happy home where her childish 




Room in the Palace of Schoenbrun. 

heart had basked in all childish pleasures, and 
many were the tears she shed when she looked 
back from the eminences which surround 
Vienna upon those haunts to which she was 
destined never again to return. 




CHAPTEK n. 



BKIDAL DAYS. 

When Maria Antoinette was fifteen years of 
age, a light-hearted, blooming, beautiful girl, 
hardly yet emerging from the period of child- 
hood, all Austria, indeed all Europe, was in- 
terested in the preparations for her nuptials 
with the destined King of France. Louis XV. 
still sat upon the throne of Charlemagne. His 
eldest son had died about ten years before, 
leaving a little boy, some twelve years of age, 
to inherit the crown his father -had lost by 
death. The young Louis, grandchild of the 
reigning king, was mild, inoffensive, and bash- 
ful, with but little energy of mind, with no 
ardor of feeling, and singularly destitute of all 
passion. He was perfectly exemplary in his 
conduct, perhaps not so much from inherent 
strength of principle as from possessing that 
peculiarity of temperament, cold and phleg- 
matic, which feels not the power of tempta- 
tion. He submitted passively to the arrange- 
ments for his marriage, never manifesting the 

3— Antoinette ^^ 



24 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

slightest emotion of pleasure or repugnance in 
view of his approaching alliance with one of 
the roost beautiful and fascinating princesses 
of Europe. Louis was entirely insensible to all 
the charms of female beauty, and seemed in- 
capable of feeling the emotion of love. 

Louis XY., a pleasure-loving, dissolute 
man, had surrounded his throne with all the 
attractions of fashionable indulgence and dis- 
sipation. There was one woman in his court, 
Madame du Barri, celebrated in the annals of 
profligacy, who had acquired an entire ascend- 
ency over the mind of the king. The disrep- 
utable connection existing between her and the 
monarch excluded her from respect, and yet 
the king loaded her with honors, received her 
at his table, and forced her society upon all 
the inmates of the palace. The court was full 
of jealousies and bickerings; and while one 
party were disposed to welcome Maria Antoin- 
ette, hoping that she would espouse and 
strengthen their cause, the other party looked 
upon her with suspicion and hostility, and 
prepared to meet her with all the weapons of 
annoyance. 

Neither morals nor religion were then of any 
repute in the court of France. Vice did not 
even affect concealment. The children of 
Louis XY. were educated, or rather not edu- 
cated, in a nunnery. The Princess Louisa, 
when twelve years of age, knew not the letters 




Maria Antomett 



Maria Antoinette Leaving Schoenbrun. 



BRIDAL DAYS. 25 

of her alphabet. When the children did 
wrong, the sacred sisters sent them, for pen- 
ance, into the dark, damp, and gloomy sepul- 
cher of the convent, where the remains of the 
departed nuns were moldering to decay. Here 
the timid and superstitious girls, in an agony 
of terror, were sent alone, to make expiation 
for some childish offense. The little Princess 
Victoire, who was of a very nervous tempera- 
ment, was thrown into convulsions by this 
harsh treatment, and the injury to her nerv- 
ous system was so irreparable, that during her 
whole life she was exposed to periodical parox- 
ysms of panic terror. 

One day the king, when sitting with Madame 
du Barri, received a package of letters. The 
petted favorite, suspecting that one of them 
was from an enemy of hers, snatched the 
packet from the king's hand. As he en- 
deavored to regain it, she resisted, and ran 
two or three times around the table, which was 
in the center of the room, eagerly pursued by 
the irritated monarch. At length, in the ex- 
citement of this most strange conflict, she 
threw the letters into the glowing fire of the 
grate, where they were all consumed. The 
king, enraged beyond endurance, seized her by 
the shoulders, and thrust her violently out of 
the room. After a few hours, however, the 
weak-minded monarch called upon her. The 
countess, trembling in view of her dismissal, 



26 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

with its dreadful consequences of disgrace and 
beggary, threw herself at his feet, bathed in 
tears, and they were reconciled. 

The remaining history of this celebrated 
woman is so remarkable that we cannot refrain 
from briefly recording it. Her marvelous 
beauty had inflamed the passions of the king, 
and she had obtained so entire an ascendency 
over his mind that she was literally the mon- 
arch of France. The treasures of the empire 
were emptied into her lap. Notwithstanding 
the stigma attached to her position, the nation, 
accustomed to this laxity of morals, submitted 
to the yoke. As the idol of the king, and the 
diapenser of honors and powers, the clergy, 
the nobility, the philosophers, all did her 
homage. She was still young, and in all the 
splendor of her ravishing beauty, when the 
king died. For the sake of appearances, she 
retired for a few months into a nunnery. 
Soon, however, she emerged again into the 
gay world. Her limitless power over the 
voluptuous old monarch had enabled her to 
amass an enormous fortune. With this she 
reared and embellished for herself a magnifi- 
cent retreat, adorned with more than regal 
splendor, in the vicinity of Paris — the Pavil- 
ion de Luciennes, on the borders of the forest 
of St. Germain. The old Duke de Brissac, 
who had long been an admirer of her charms, 
here lived with her in unsanctified union. 



BRIDAL DAYS. 27 

Almost universal corruption at that time per- 
vaded the nobility of France — one of the excit- 
ing causes of the Revolution. Though ex- 
cluded from appearing at the court of Louis 
XVI. and Maria Antoinette, her magnificent 
salons were crowded by those ever ready to 
worship at the shrine of wealth, and rank, and 
power. But, as the stormy days of the Revo- 
lution shed their gloom over France, and an 
infuriated populace were wreaking their venge- 
ance upon the throne and the nobles, Madame 
du Barri, terrified by the scenes of violence 
daily occurring, prepared to fly from France. 
She invested enormous funds in England, and 
one dark night went out with the Duke de 
Brissac alone, and, by the dim light of a lan- 
tern they dug a hole under the foot of a tree in 
the park, and buried much of the treasure 
which she was unable to take away with her. 
In disguise, she reached the coast of France, 
and escaped across the Channel to England. 
Here she devoted her immense revenue to the 
relief of the emigrants who were every day fly- 
ing in dismay from the horrors with which 
they were surrounded. The Duke de Brissac, 
who was commander of the constitutional guard 
of the king, appeared at Versailles in an hour 
of great excitement. The mob attacked him. 
He was instantly assassinated. His head, 
covered with the white locks of age, was cut 
off, and planted ujDon one of the palisades of 



28 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the palace gates, a fearful warning to all who 
were suspected of advocating the cause of tlie 
king. 

And now no one knew of the buried treasure 
but Madame du Barri herself. She, anxious 
to regain them, ventured, in disguise, to return 
to France to disinter her diamonds, and take 
them with her to England. A young negro 
servant, whom she had pamiDered with every 
indulgence, and had caressed with the fond- 
ness with which a mother fondles her child, 
whom she had caused to be painted by her 
side in her portraits, saw his mistress and be- 
trayed her. She was immediately seized by 
the mob, and dragged before the revolutionary 
tribunal of Luciennes. She was condemned 
as a Eoyalist, and was hurried along in the 
cart of the condemned, amid the execrations 
and jeers of the delirious mob, to the guillo- 
tine. Her long hair was shorn, that the action 
of the knife might be unimpeded; but the 
clustering ringlets, in beautiful profusion, fell 
over her brow and temples, and veiled her vo- 
luptuous features and bare bosom, from which 
the executioner had torn the veil. The yells 
of the infuriated and deriding populace filled 
the air, as they danced exultingly around the 
aristocratic courtesan. But the shrieks of the 
unhappy victim pierced shrilly through them 
all. She was frantic with terror. Her whole 
soul was unnerved, and not one emotion of 



BRIDAL DAYS. 20 

fortitude remained to sustain the woman of 
pleasure through her dreadful doom. With 
floods of tears, and gestures of despair, and 
beseeching, heart-rending cries, she incessantly 
exclaimed, "Life — life — life! Oh, save me! 
save me!" The mob jeered, and derided, and 
insulted her in every conceivable way. They 
made themselves merry with her anguish and 
terror. They shouted witticisms in her ear 
respecting the pillow of the guillotine upon 
which she was to repose her head. Struggling 
and shrieking, she was bound to the plank. 
Suddenly her voice was hushed. The dis- 
severed head, dripping with blood, fell into the 
basket, and her soul was in eternity. Poor 
woman ! It is easy to condemn. It is better 
for the heart to pity. Endowed with almost 
celestial beauty, living in a corrupt age, and 
lured, when a child, by a monarch's love, she 
fell. It is well to weep over her sad fate, and to 
remember the prayer, **Lead us not into temp- 
tation." 

Such were the characters and such the state 
of morals of the court into which this beauti- 
ful and artless princess, Maria Antoinette, but 
fifteen years of age, was to be introduced. As 
she- left the palaces of Vienna to encounter the 
temptations of the Tuileries and Versailles, 
Maria Theresa wrote the following characteris- 
tic letter to the future iusband of her daugh- 
ter. 



30 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

**Youf bride, dear dauphin, is separated 
from me. As she has ever been my delight, so 
will she be your happiness. For this purpose 
have I educated her; for I have long been 
aware that she was to be the companion of 
your life. I have enjoined upon her, as among 
her highest duties, the most tender attachment 
to your person, the greatest attention to every- 
thing that can please or make you happy. 
Above all, I have recommended to her humility 
toward God, because I am convinced that it is 
impossible for us to contribute to the happi- 
ness of the subjects confided to us without love 
to Him who breaks the scepters and crushes 
the thrones of kings according to His will.'* 

The great mass of the Austrian population, 
hating the French, with whom they had long 
been at war, were exceedingly averse to this 
marriage. As the train of royal carriages was 
drawn up, on the morning of her departure, to 
convey the bride to Paris, an immense assem- 
blage of the populace of Vienna — men, wom- 
en, and children — surnjunded the corUge with 
weeping and lamentation. Loyalty was then 
an emotion existing in the popular mind with 
an intensity which now can hardly be con- 
ceived. At length, in the excitement of their 
feelings, to save the beloved princess from a 
doom which they deemed dreadful, they made 
a rush toward the carriages to cut the traces 
and thus to prevent the departure. The guard 



BRIDAL DAYS. 31 

was compelled to interfere, and repel, with 
violence, the affectionate mob. As the long an^ 
splendid train, preceded and followed by 
squadrons of horse, disappeared through the 
gate of th6 city, a universal feeling of sadness 
oppressed the capital. The people returned 
to their homes silent and dejected, as if they 
had been witnessing the obsequies rather than 
the nuptials of the beloved princess. 

The gorgeous cavalcade proceeded to Kell, on 
the frontiers of Austria and France. There a 
magnificent pavilion had been erected, consist- 
ing of a vast salon, with an apartment at 
either end. One of these apartments was as- 
signed to the lords and ladies of the court of 
Vienna; the other was appropriated to the 
brilliant train which had come from Paris to 
receive the bride. The two courts vied with 
each other in the exhibition of wealth and 
magnificence. It was an established law of 
French etiquette, always observed on such oc- 
casions, that the royal bride should receive her 
wedding dress from France, and should retain 
absolutely nothing belonging to a foreign 
court. The princess was, consequently, in the 
pavilion appropriated to the Austrian suite, 
Tinrobed of all her garments, excepting her 
body linen and stockings. The door was then 
thrown open, and in this plight the beautiful 
and blushing child advanced into the salon. 
The French ladies rushed to meet her. Maria 



32 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

threw herself iDtotbe arms of the Countess de 
Ngailles and wept convulsively. The French 
were perfectly enchanted with her beauty ; and 
the proud position of her head and shoulders 
betrayed to their eyes the daughter of the 
Caesars. She was immediately conducted to 
the apartment appropriated to the French 
court. Here the few remaining articles of 
clothing were removed from her person, and 
she was redressed in the most brilliant attire 
which the wealth of the French monarchy could 
furnish. 

And now, charioted in splendor, surrounded 
by the homage of lords and ladies, accom- 
panied by all the pomp of civic and military 
parade, and enlivened by the most exultant 
strains of martial bands, Maria was conducted 
toward Paris, while her Austrian friends bade 
her adieu and returned to Vienna. The hori- 
zon, by night, was illumined by bonfires, flam- 
ing upon every hill; the church bells rang 
their merriest peals ; cities blazed with illumi- 
nations and fireworks; and files of maidens 
lined her way, singing their songs of welcome, 
and carpeting her path with roses. It was a 
scene to dazzle the most firm and contempla- 
tive. No dream of romance could have been 
more bewildering to the ardent and romantic 
princess, just emerging from the cloistered se- 
clusion of the palace nursery. 

Louis, then a youiig jaan about twenty years 




Maria Antoinette , 



Louis XVI., King of France. 



BRIDAL DAYS. 33 

of age, came from Paris with his grandfather, 
King Louis XY., and a splendid retinue of 
courtiers, as far as Compiegne, to meet his 
bride. Uninfluenced by any emotions of ten- 
derness, apparently entirely unconscious of all 
those mysterious emotions which bind loving 
hearts, he saluted the stranger with cold and 
distant respect. He thought not of wounding 
her feelings; he had no aversion to the con- 
nection, but he seemed not even to think of 
any more intimacy with Maria than with any 
other lady who adorned the court. The ardent 
and warm-hearted princess was deeply hurt at 
this indifference ; but instinctive pride forbade 
its manifestation, except in bosom converse to 
a few confiding friends. 

The bride and her passive and unimpas- 
sioned bridegroom were conducted to Yersailles. 
It was the 16th of May, 1770, when the 
marriage ceremony was performed, with all the 
splendor with which it could be invested. 
The gorgeous palaces of Versailles were 
thronged with the nobility of Europe, and 
filled with rejoicing. The old king was 
charmed with the beauty and affability of the 
young bride. All hearts were filled with hap- 
piness, except those of the newly married 
couple. Louis was tranquil and contented. 
He was neither allured nor repelled by his 
bride. He never sought her society alone, and 
ever approached her with the same distance 



34 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

and reserve with which he would approach any- 
other young lady who was a visitor at the 
palace. He never intruded upon the privacy 
of her apartments, and she was his wife but in 
name. While all France was filled with the 
praises of her beauty, and all eyes were en- 
chanted by her graceful demeanor, her husband 
alone was insensible to her charms. After a 
few days spent with the rejoicing court, amid 
the bowers and fountains of Versailles, the 
nuptial party departed for Paris, and entered 
the palace of the Tuileries, the scene of future 
sorrows such as few on earth have ever experi- 
enced. 

As Maria, in dazzling beauty, entered Paris, 
the whole city was in a delirium of pleasure. 
Triumphal arches greeted her progress. The 
acclamations of hundreds of thousands filled 
the air. The journals exhausted the French 
language in extolling her loveliness. Poets 
sang her charms, and painters vied with each 
other in transferring her features to canvas. 
As Maria sat in the dining salon of the Tuil- 
eries at the marriage entertainment, the shouts 
of the immense assemblage thronging the gar- 
dens rendered it necessary for her to present 
herself to them upon the balcony. She 
stepped from the window, and looked out upon 
the vast sea of heads which filled the garden 
and the Place Louis XV. All eyes were 
riveted upon her as she stood before the throng 



BRIDAL DAYS. 35 

•upon the balcony in dazzling beauty, and the 
air resounded with applauses. She exclaimed, 
with astonishment, "What a concourse!" 

"Madame," said the governor of Paris, "I 
may tell you, without fear of offending the 
dauphin, that they are so many lovers." The 
heir apparent to the throne of France is called 
the dauphin; and, until the death of Louis 
XV., Louis and Maria Antoinette were called 
the dauphin and dauphiness. Louis seemed 
neither pleased nor displeased with the accla- 
mations and homage which his bride received. 
His singularly passionless nature led him to 
retirement and his books, and he hardly heard 
even the acclamations with which Paris was 
filled. 

Arrangements had been made for a very bril- 
liant display of fireworks, in celebration of the 
marriage, at the Place Louis XV. The hun- 
dreds of thousands of that pleasure-loving 
metropolis thronged the Place and all its 
avenues. The dense mass was wedged as com- 
pactly as it was possible to crowd human 
beings together. Not a spot of ground was 
left vacant upon which a human foot could be 
planted. Every house top, every balcony, 
every embrasure of a window swarmed with the 
multitude. Long lines of omnibuses, coaches, 
and carriages of every description, filled with 
groups of young and old, were intermingled 
with the countless multitude — men and horses 



36 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

SO crowded into contact that neither could 
move. It was an impervious ocean of throb- 
bing life. In the ceEter of this Place, the 
pride of Paris, the scene of its most trium- 
phant festivities and its most unutterable woe, 
vast scaffolds had been reared, and they were 
burdened with fireworks, intended to surpass 
in brilliancy and sublimity any spectacle of 
the kind earth had ever before witnessed. 
Suddenly a bright flame was seen, a shriek 
was heard, and the whole scaffolding, by some 
accidental spark, was enveloped in a sheet of 
fire. Then ensued such a scene as no pen can 
describe and no imagination paint. The awful 
conflagration converted all the ministers of 
pleasure into messengers of death. Thou- 
sands of rockets filled the air, and, with almost 
the velocity of lightning, pierced their way 
through the shrieking, struggling, terror- 
stricken crowd. Fiery serpents, more terri- 
ble, more deadly than the fabled dragons of old, 
hissed through the air, clung to the dresses of 
the ladies, enveloping them in flames, and 
mercilessly burning the flesh to the bone. 
Mines exploded under the hoofs of the horses, 
scattering destruction and death on every side. 
Every species of fire was rained down, a horri- 
ble tempest, upon the immovable mass. 
Shrieks from the wounded and the dying filled 
the air; and the mighty multitude swayed to 
and fro, in herculean, yet unavailing efforts 



BRIDAL DAYS. 37 

to escape. The horses, maddened with terror, 
reared and plunged, crushing indiscriminately 
beneath their tread the limbs of the fallen. 
The young bride, in her carriage, with a bril- 
liant retinue, and eager to witness the splen- 
dor of the anticipated /e^e, had just ap- 
proached the Place, when she was struck with 
consternation at the shrieks of death which 
filled the air, and at the scene of tumult and 
terror which surrounded her. The horses 
were immediately turned, and driven back 
again with the utmost speed to the palace. 
But the awful cries of the dying followed her; 
and it was long ere she could efface from her 
distracted imagination the impression of that 
hour of horror. Fifty- three persons were 
killed outright by this sad casualty, and more 
than three hundred were dangerously wounded. 
The dauphin and dauphiness immediately sent 
their whole income for the year to the unfor- 
tunate relatives of those who had perished on 
that disastrous day. 

The old king was exceedingly i^leased with 
the beauty and fascinating frankness and cor- 
diality of Maria. He made her many magnifi- 
cent presents, and, among others, with a mag- 
nificent collar of pearls, the smallest of which 
was nearly as large as a walnut, which had 
been brought into France by Anne of Austria. 
These praises and attentions on the part of the 
king excited the jealousy of the petted favorite, 

4 — Antoinette 



38 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Madame du Barri. She consequents^ became, 
with the party under her influence, the relent- 
less and unprincipled enemy of Maria. She 
lost no opportunity to traduce her character. 
She spread reports everywhere that Maria 
hated the French ; that she was an Austrian in 
heart; that her frankness and freedom from 
the restraints of etiquette were the result of 
an immoral and depraved mind. She exagger- 
ated her extravagance, and accused her, by 
whispers and insinuations spread far and near, 
of the most ignoble crimes of which woman 
can be guilty. The young and inexperienced 
dauphiness soon found herself involved in 
most embarrassing difficulties. She had no 
kind friend to counsel her. Louis still re- 
mained cold, distant, and reserved. Thus, 
week after week, month after month, year after 
year passed on, and for eight years Louis 
never approached his youthful spouse with any 
manifestation of confidence and affection but 
those with which he would regard a mother or 
a sister. Maria was a wife but in name. She 
did. not share his apartment or his couch. 
Though deeply wounded by this inexplicable 
neglect, she seldom spoke of it even to her 
most intimate friends. The involuntary sigh, 
and the tear which often moistened her cheek, 
proclaimed her inward sufferings. 

"When Maria first arrived in France, the 
Countess de Noailles was assigned to her as 



BRIDAL DAYS. 39 

her lady of honor. She was somewhat ad- 
vaDced in life, haughty aiad ceremonious, a 
perfect mistress of that art of etiquette so 
rigidly observed in the French court. Upon 
her devolved the duty of instructing the dau- 
phiness in all the punctilios of form, then 
deemed far more important than the requisi- 
tions of morality. The following anecdote, 
related by Madame Campan, illustrates the 
ridiculous excess to which these points of eti- 
quette were carried. One winter's day, it 
happened that Maria Antoinette, who was en- 
tirely disrobed in her dressing-room, was just 
going to put on her body linen. Madame, the 
lady in attendance, held it ready unfolded for 
her. The dame d'Jionneur came in. As she 
was of superior rank, etiquette required that 
she should enjoy the privilege of presenting 
the robe. She hastily slipped off her gloves, 
took the garment, and at that moment a rust- 
ling was heard at the door. It was opened, 
and in came the Duchess d' Orleans. She now 
must be the bearer of the garment. But the 
laws of etiquette would not allow the dame 
d'Tionneur to hand the linen directly to the 
Duchess d'Orleans. It must pass down the 
various grades of rank to the lowest, and be 
presented by her to the highest. The linen 
was consequently passed back again from one 
to another, till it was placed in the hands of 
the duchess. She was just on the point of 



40 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

conveying ifc to its proper destination, when 
suddenly the door opened, and the Countess of 
Provence entered. Again the linen passed 
from hand to hand, till it reached the hands of 
the countess. She, perceiving the uncomfort- 
able position of Maria, who sat shivering with 
cold, with her hands crossed upon her bosom, 
without stopping to remove her gloves, 
placed the linen upon the shoulders of the 
dauphiness. She, however, was quite unable 
to restrain her impatience, and exclaimed, 
*'How disagreeable, how tiresome!" 

Another anecdote illustrates the character of 
Madame de Noailles, who exerted so powerful 
an influence upon the destiny of Maria 
Antoinette. She was a woman of severe man- 
ners, but etiquette was the very atmosphere 
she breathed ; it was the soul of her existence. 
The slightest infringement of the rules of eti- 
quette annoyed her almost beyond endurance. 
"One day," says Madame Campan, "I unin- 
tentionally threw the poor lady into a terrible 
agony. The queen was receiving, I know not 
whom — some persons just presented, I believe. 
The ladies of the bedchamber were behind 
the queen. I was near the throne, with the 
two ladies on duty. All was right; at least I 
thought so. Suddenly I perceived the eyes of 
Madame de Noailles fixed on mine. She made 
a sign with her head, and then raised her eye- 
brows to the top of her forehead, lowered 



BRIDAL DAYS. 41 

them, raised them again, and then began to 
make little signs with her hand. From all 
this pantomime, I could easily perceive that 
something was not as it should be ; ana as I 
looked about on all sides to lind oat what it 
was, the agitation of the countess kept in- 
creasing. Maria Antoinette, who perceived 
all this, looked at me with a smile. I found 
means to approach her, and she said to me, in 
a whisper, *Let down your lappets, or the 
countess will expire.' All this bustle rose 
from two unlucky pins, which fastened up my 
lappets, while the etiquette of costume said 
lappets hanging down.'' 

One can easily imagine the contempt with 
which Maria, reared in the freedom of the 
Austrian court, would regard these punctilios. 
She did not refrain from treating them with 
good-natured but unsparing ridicule, and thus 
she often deeply offended those stiff elderly 
ladies, who regarded these trifles, which they 
had been studying all their lives, with almost 
religious awe. She gave Madame de Noailles 
the nickname of Madame Etiquette, to the 
great merriment of some of the courtiers and 
the great indignation of others. The more 
grave and stately matrons were greatly shocked 
by these indiscretions on the part of the mirth- 
loving queen. 

On one occasion, when a number of noble 
ladies were presented to Maria, the ludicrous 



42 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

appearance of the venerable dowagers, with 
their little black bonnets with great wings, and 
the entire of their grotesque dress and evolu- 
tions, appealed so impressively to Maria's 
sense of the ridiculous, that she, with the 
utmost difficulty, refrained from open laughter. 
But when a young marchioness, full of fun 
and frolic, whose office required that she 
should continue standing behind the queen, 
being tired of the ceremony, seated herself 
upon the floor, and, concealed behind the fence 
of the enormous hoops of the attendant ladies, 
began to play off all imaginable pranks with 
the ladies' hoops, and with the muscles of her 
own face, the contrast between these childish 
frolics and the stately dignity of the old dow- 
agers so disconcerted the fun-loving Maria, 
that, notwithstanding all her efforts at self- 
control, she could not conceal an occasional 
smile. The old ladies were shocked and en- 
raged. They declared that she had treated 
them with derision, that she had no sense of 
decorum, and that not one of them would ever 
attend her court again. The next morning a 
song appeared, full of bitterness which was 
spread through Paris. The following was the 
chorus : 

** Little queen! you must not be 
So saucy with your twenty years; 
Your ill-used courtiers soon will see 
You pass once Ddore the barriers." 



BRIDAL DAYS. 43 

While Madame de Noailles was tlmg tortur- 
ing Maria Antoinette with her exactions, the 
Abbe de Yermond, on the contrary, was exert- 
ing all the strong influence he had acquired 
over her mind to induce her to despise these 
requirements of etiquette, and to treat them 
with open contempt. Maria Theresa, in the 
spiritof independence which ever characterizes 
a strong mind, ordinarily lived like any other 
lady, attending energetically to her duties 
without any ostentation. She would ride 
through the streets of Vienna unaccompanied 
by any retinue; and the other members of the 
royal family, on all ordinary occasions, dis- 
pensed with the pomp and splendors of 
royalty. Maria Antoinette's education and 
natural disposition led her to adhere to the 
customs of the court of her ancestors. Thus 
was she incessantly annoyed by the diverse in- 
fluences crowding upon her. Following, how- 
ever, the bent of her own inclinations, she 
daily made herself more and more unpopular 
with the haughty dames who surrounded her. 

It was a very great annoyance to Maria that 
she was compelled to dine every day as a public 
spectacle. It must seem almost incredible to 
an American 'eader that such a custom could 
ever have existc i in France. The arrangement 
was this : The cifferent members of the royal 
family dined in different apartments: the 
king and queen, with such as were admitted 



44 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

to their table, in one room, the dauphin and 
dauphiness in another, and other members of 
the royal family in another. Portions of 
these rooms were railed off, as in courthouses, 
police rooms, and menageries, for spectators. 
The good, honest people from the country, 
after visiting the menageries to see the lions, 
tigers, and monkeys fed, hastened to the palace 
to see the king and queen take their soup. 
They were always especially delighted with the 
skill with which Louis XV. would strike off 
the top of his egg with one blow of his fork. 
This was the most valuable accomplishment the 
monarch over thirty millions of people pos- 
sessed, and the one in which he chiefly gloried. 
The spectators entered at one door and passed 
out at another. No respectably dressed person 
Avas refused admission. The consequence was, 
that during the dining hour an interminable 
throng was pouring through the apartment ; 
those in the advance crowded slowly along by 
those in the rear, and all eyes riveted upon the 
royal feeders. The members of the royal 
family of France, accustomed to this practice 
from infancy, did not regard it at all. To 
Maria Antoinette it was, however, excessively 
annoying ; and though she submitted to it 
while she was dauphiness, as soon as she 
ascended the throne she discontinued the prac- 
tice. The people felt that they v/ere thus 
deprived of one of their inalienable privileges, 



BRIDAL DAYS. 45 

and murmurs loud and angry rose against the 
innovating Austrian. 

Much of the time of Louis and his bride was 
passed at the palaces of Versailles. This 
renowned residence of the royal family of 
France is situated about ten miles from Paris, 
in the midst of an extensive plain. Until the 
middle of the seventeenth century it was only 
a small village. At this time Louis XIY. de- 
termined to erect upon this solitary spot a resi- 
dence worthy of the grandeur of his throne. 
Seven years were employed in completing the 
palace, garden, and park. No expense was 
spared by him or his successors to render it 
the most magnificent residence in Europe. No 
regal mansion or city can boast a greater dis- 
play of reservoirs, fountains, gardens, groves, 
cascades, and the various other embellishments 
and appliances of pleasure. The situation of 
the principal palace is on a gentle elevation. 
Its front and wings are of polished stone, or- 
namented with statues, and a colonnade of the 
Doric order is in the center. The grand hall 
is about two hundred and twenty feet in length, 
with costly decorations in marble, paintings, 
and gilding. The other apartments are of 
corresponding size and elegance. This beauti- 
ful structure is approached by three magnifi- 
cent avenues, shaded by stately trees, leading 
respectively from Paris, St. Cloud, and Yer- 
sailles. 



46 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

This gorgeous mansion of the monarchs of 
France presents a front eight hundred feet in 
length, and has connected with it fifteen pro- 
jecting buildings of spacious dimensions, dec- 
orated with Ionic columns and pilasters, con- 
stituting almost a city in itself. One great 
gallery, adorned with statuary, paintings, and 
architectural embellishments is two hundred 
and thirty-two feet long thirty broad and 
thirty-seven high and lighted by seventeen 
large windows. Many gorgeous salons, fur- 
nished with the most costly splendor, a ban- 
queting room of the most spacious dimensions 
where luxurious kings have long rioted in mid- 
night revels, an opera house and a chapel, whose 
beautifully fluted pillars support a dome which 
is the admiration of all who look up upon its 
graceful beauty, combine to lend attractions to 
these royal abodes such as few other earthly 
mansions can rival and none perhaps eclipse. 
The gardens in the midst of which this volup- 
tuous residence reposes are equal in splendor 
to the palace they are intended to adorn. Here 
the kings of France had rioted in boundless 
profusion, and every conceivable appliance of 
pleasure was collected in these abodes, from 
which all thoughts of retribution were stu- 
diously excluded. The expense incurred in 
rearing and embellishing this princely struc- 
ture has amounted to uncounted millions. But 
we must not forget that these millions were 




M.ai Hi j\.ii,toin,i,i,i,a. Fi ontupn ce 



The Arrest of the Royal Family at A^arennes. iSee p. 158. ) 



BRIDAL DAYS. 47 

wrested from the toiling multitude, who dwelt 
in mud hovels, and ate the coarsest food, that 
their proud and licentious rulers might be 
''clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare 
sumptuously every day." Such was the home 
to which the beautiful Maria Antoinette, the 
bride of fifteen, was introduced ; and in the 
midst of temptations to which such volup- 
tuousness exposed her, she entered upon her 
dark and gloomy career. This, however, was 
but one of her abodes. It was but one even of 
her country seats. At Versailles there were 
other palaces, in the construction and the em- 
bellishment of which the revenues of the king- 
dom had been lavished, and in whose luxurious 
chambers all the laws of God had been openly 
set at defiance by those earthly kings who ever 
forgot that there was one enthroned above 
them as the King of kings. 

Within the circuit of the park are two 
smaller palaces, called the Great and the Little 
Trianon. These may be called royal resi- 
dences in miniature; seats to which the king 
and queen retired when desirous of laying 
aside their rank and state. The Little Trianon 
was a beautiful palace, about eighty feet 
square. It was built by Louis XY. for 
Madame du Barri. Its architectural style was 
that of a Koman pavilion, and it was sur- 
rounded with gardens ornamented in the high- 
est attainments of French and English art, 



48 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

diversified with temples, cottages, and cas- 
cades. This was the favorite retreat of Maria 
Antoinette. This she regarded as peculiarly her 
home. Here she was for a time comparatively 
happy. Though living in the midst of all the 
jealousies, and intrigues, and bickerings of a 
court, and though in heart deeply pained by 
the strange indifference and neglect which her 
husband manifested toward her person, the 
buoyancy of her youthful spirit enabled her to 
triumph, in a manner, over those influences of 
depression, and she was the life and the orna- 
ment of every gay scene. As her mind had 
been but little cultivated, she had but few re- 
sources within herself to dispel that ennui 
which is the great foe of the votaries of fash- 
ion ; and, unconscious of any other sources of 
enjoyment, she plunged with all the zest of 
novelty into an incessant round of balls, 
operas, theaters, and masquerades. Her 
mind, by nature, was one of the noblest texture, 
and by suitable culture might have exulted 
in the appreciation of all that is beautiful and 
sublime in the world of nature and in the 
realms of thought. She loved the retirement 
of the Little Trianon. She loved, in the com- 
parative quietude of that miniature palace, of 
that royal home, to shake off all the restraints 
of regal state, and to live with a few choice 
friends in the freedom of a private lady. Un- 
attended she rambled among the flowers of the 



BRIDAL DAYS. 49 

garden; and in the bright moonlight, leaning 
upon the arm of a female friend, she forgot, 
as she gazed upon the moon, and the stars, 
and all the somber glories of the night, that 
she was a queen, and rejoiced in those emotions 
common to every ennobled spirit. Here she 
often lingered in the midst of congenial joys, 
till the murmurs of courtiers drew her away to 
the more exciting, but far less satisfying scenes 
of fashionable pleasure. She often lamented 
bitterly, and even with tears, her want of in- 
tellectual cultivation, and so painfully felt 
hr inferiority when in the society of ladies of 
intelligence and highly-disciplined minds, 
that she sought to surround herself with those 
whose tastes were no more intellectual than 
her own. "What a resource," she once ex- 
claimed, ''amid the casualties of life, is a well- 
cultivated mind ! One can then be one's own 
companion, and find society in one's own 
thoughts." Here, in her Little Trianon, she 
made several unavailing attempts to retrieve, 
by study, those hours of childhood which had 
been lost. But it was too late. For a few 
days, with great zeal and self-denial, she would 
persevere in secluding herself in the library 
with her books. But it was in vain for the 
Queen of France to strive again to become a 
schoolgirl. Those days had passed forever. 
The innumerable interruptions of her station 
frustrated all her endeavors, and she was com- 



50 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

pelled to abandon the attempt in sorrow and 
despair. "We know not upon how trivial events 
the great destinies of the world are suspended; 
and had the Queen of France possessed a 
highly-disciplined mind — had she been familiar 
with the teachings of history, and been capable 
of inspiring respect by her intellectual attain- 
ments, it is far from impossible that she might 
have lived and died in peace. But almost the 
only hours of enjoyment which shone upon 
Maria while Queen of France, was when she 
forgot that she was a queen, and, like a village 
maiden, loitered through the gardens and the 
groves in the midst of which the Little Trianon 
was embowered. 

The enemies of Maria had sedulously en- 
deavored to spread the report through France 
that she was still in heart an Austrian ; that 
she loved only the country she had left, and 
that she had no affection for the country over 
which she was to reign as queen. They falsely 
and malignantly spread the report that she had 
changed the name of Little Trianon into Little 
Vienna. The rumor spread rapidly. It ex- 
cited great displeasure. The indignant denials 
of Maria were disregarded. Thus the number 
of her enemies was steadily increasing. 
• Another unfortunate occurrence took place, 
which rendered her still more unpopular at 
court. Her brother Maximilian, a vain and 
foolish young man, made a visit to his sister 



BRIDAL DAYS. 51 

at the court of Yersailles, not traveling in his 
own proper rank, but under an assumed name. 
It was quite common with princes of the 
blood-rojal, for various reasons, thus to travel. 
The young Austrian prince insisted that the 
first visit was due to him from the princes of 
the royal family in France. They, on the 
contrary, insisted that, as he was not traveling 
in his own name, and in the recognition of his 
own proper rank, it was their duty to regard 
him as of the character lie had assumed, and 
as this was of a rank inferior to that of a royal 
prince, it could not be their duty to pay the 
first visit. The dispute ran high. Maria, 
seconded by the Abbe Yermond, took the part 
of her brother. This greatly offended many 
of the highest nobility of the realm. It be- 
came a family quarrel of great bitterness. A 
thousand tongues were busy whispering mali- 
cious accusations against Maria. Eibald 
songs to sully her name were hawked through 
the streets. Care began to press heavily upon 
the brow of the dauphiness, and sorrow to 
spread its pallor over her cheeks. Her high 
spirit could not brook the humility of en- 
deavoring the refutation of the calumnies urged 
against her. Still, she was too sensitive not to 
feel them often with the intensest anguish. 
Her husband was comparatively a stranger to 
her. He bowed to her with much civility 
when they met, but never addressed her with a 

5— Antoinette 



52 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

word or gesture of tenderness, or manifested 
the least desire to see her alone. One even- 




Louis and Maria at Little Trianon. 

ing, when walking in the garden of Little 
Trianon, he astonished the courtiers, and 
almost overpowered Maria with delightful 
emotions, by offering her his arm. 




CHAPTER in. 



MAKIA ANTOINETTE ENTHEONED. 



In the year 1774, about four years after the 
marriage of Maria Antoinette and Louis, the 
dissolute old king, Louis XY., in his palace at 
Versailles, surrounded by his courtiers and his 
lawless pleasures, was taken sick. The dis- 
ease soon developed itself as the smallpox in 
its most virulent form. The physicians, 
knowing the terror with which the conscience- 
smitten monarch regarded death, feared to in- 
form him of the nature of his disease. 

** What 'are these pimples," inquired the 
king, ''which are breaking out all over my 
body?" 

*'They are little pustules," was the reply, 
** which require three days in forming, three in 
suppurating, and three in drying." 

The dreadful malady which had seized upon 
the king was soon, however, known throughout 
the court, and all fled from the infection. The 
miserable monarch, hated by his subjects, de- 
spised by his courtiers, and writhing under 

53 



54 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the scorpion lash of his own conscience, was 
left to groan and die alone. It was a horrible 
termination of a most loathsome life. 

The vices of Louis XY. sowed the seeds of 
the French Eevolution. Two dissolute 
women, notorious on the page of history, each, 
in their turn, governed him and France. The 
Marchioness du Pompadour was his first favor- 
ite. Ambitious, shrewd, unprincipled, and 
avaricious, she held the weak-minded king en- 
tirely under her control, and spread throughout 
the court an influence so contaminating that 
the whole empire was infected with the demor- 
alization. Upon this woman he squandered 
almost the revenues of the kingdom. The cel- 
ebrated Pare au Cerf, the scene of almost un- 
paralleled voluptuousness, was reared for her 
at an expense of twenty millions of dollars. 
After her charms had faded, she still contrived 
to retain her political influence over the pliant 
monarch, until she died, at the age of forty- 
four, universally detested. 

Madame du Barri, of whom we have before 
spoken, succeeded the Marchioness du Pompa- 
dour in this post of infamy. The king lav- 
ished upon her, in the short space of eight 
years, more than ten millions of dollars. For 
her he erected the Little Trianon, with its gar- 
dens, parks, and fountains, a temple of pleas- 
ure dedicated to lawless passion. The king 
had totally neglected the interests of his ma- 



ENTHRONED. 55 

jestic empire, consecrating every moment of 
time to his own sensual gratification. The 
revenues of the realm yvere squandered in the 
profligacy and carousings of his court. The 
people were regarded merely as servants who 
were to toil to minister to the voluptuous in- 
dulgence of their masters. They lived in pen- 
ury, that kings and queens, and courtiers 
might revel in all imaginable magnificence and 
luxury. This was the ultimate cause of that 
terrible outbreak which eventually crushed 
Maria Antoinette beneath the ruins of the 
French monarchy. Louis XY., in his shame- 
less debaucheries, not only expended every 
dollar upon which he could lay his hands, 
but at his death left the kingdom involved 
in a debt of four hundred millions of dollars, 
which was to be paid from the scanty earnings 
of peasants and artisans whose condition was 
hardly superior to that of the enslaved labor- 
ers on the plantations of Carolina and Louis- 
iana. But I am wandering from my story. 

In a chamber of the palace of the Little 
Trianon we left the king dying of the con- 
fluent smallpox. The courtiers have fled in 
consternation. It is the hour of midnight, the 
10th of May, 1774. The monarch of France 
is alone as he struggles with the king of 
terrors. No attendants linger around him. 
Two old women, in an adjoining apartment, 
occasionally look in upon the mass of corrup- 



56 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

tion upon the royal couch, which had already 
lost every semblance of hunaanity. The eye is 
blinded. The swollen tongue cannot articulate. 
"What thought of remorse or terror may be riot- 
ing through the soul of the dying king no one 
knows, and — no one cares. A lamp flickers 
at the window, which is a signal to those at a 
safe distance that the king still lives. Its 
feeble flame is to be extinguished the moment 
life departs. The courtiers, from the windows 
of the distant palace, watch with the most in- 
tense solicitude the glimmering of that mid- 
night taper. Should the king recover, they 
dreaded the reproach of having deserted him in 
the hour of his extremity. They hope, so earn- 
estly, that he may not live. Should he die, 
they are anxious to be the first in their con- 
gratulations to the new king and queen. The 
hours of the night linger wearily away as ex- 
pectant courtiers gaze impatiently through the 
gloom upon that dim torch. The horses are 
harnessed in the carriages, and waiting at the 
doors, that the courtiers, without the loss of a 
moment, may rush to do homage to the new 
sovereign. 

The clock was tolling the hour of 12 at 
night when the lamp was extinguished. The 
miserable king had ceased to breathe. The 
ensuing scene no pen can delineate or pencil 
paint. The courtiers, totally forgetful of 
French etiquette, rushed down the stairs, 




Maria Antoinette- 

The Attack on the Bastile. {See p. 101.) 

6— Antoinette 



ENTHRONED. 57 

crowded into their carriages, and the silence 
of night was disturbed by the clattering of the 
horses' hoofs, as they were urged, at their ut- 
most speed, to the apartments of the dauphin. 

There Maria Antoinette and Louis, with a 
few fami]y friends, were awaiting the antici- 
pated intelligence of the death of their grand- 
father the king. Though neither of them 
could have cherished any feelings of affection 
for the dissolute old monarch, it was an hour 
to awaken in the soul emotions of the deepest 
melancholy. Death had approached, in the 
most frightful form, the spot on earth where, 
probably, of all others, he was most dreaded. 
Suddenly a noise was heard, as of thunder, in 
the antechamber of the dauphin. It was the 
rush of the courtiers from the dead monarch to 
bow at the shrine of the new dispensers of 
wealth and power. This extraordinary tumult, 
in the silence of midnight, conveyed to Maria 
and Louis the first intelligence that the crown 
of France had fallen upon their brows. Louis 
was then twenty-four years of age, modest, 
timid, and conscientious. Maria was twenty, 
mirthful, thoughtless, and shrinking from re- 
sponsibility. They were both overwhelmed, 
and, falling upon their knees, exclaimed, with 
gushing tears, *'0 God! guide us, protect us; 
we are too young to govern." 

The Countess de Noailles was the first to 
salute Maria Antoinette as Queen of France. 



58 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

She entered the private salon in which they 
were sitting, and requested their majesties to 
enter the grand audience hall, where the 
princes and all the great officers of state were 
anxious to do homage to their new sovereigns. 
Maria Antoinette, leaning upon her husband's 
arm, and with her handkerchief held to her 
eyes, which were bathed in tears, received 
these first expressions of loyalty. There was, 
however, not an individual found to mourn for 
the departed king. No one was willing to en- 
danger his safety by any act of respect toward 
his remains. The laws of France required that 
the chief surgeon should open the body of the 
departed monarch and embalm it, and that the 
first gentleman of the bedchamber should hold 
the head while the operation was performed. 

* ' You will see the body properly embalmed ? ' ' 
said the gentleman of the bedchamber to the 
surgeon. 

* 'Certainly," was the reply; '*and you will 
hold the head?" 

Each bowed politely to the other, without 
the exchange of another word. The body, un- 
opened and unembalmed, was placed by a few 
under servants in a coffin, which was filled with 
the spirts of wine, and hurried, without an at- 
tendant mourner, to the tomb. Such was the 
earthly end of Louis XV. In an hour he was 
forgotten, or remembered but to be despised. 

At 4 o'clock of that same morning, the 



ENTHRONED. t)9 

young king and queen, with the ^vhols court 
in retinue, left Versailles, in their carriages, 
for Ghoisy. The morning was cold, dark, and 
cheerless. The awful death of the king, and the 
succeeding excitements, had impressed the com- 
pany with gloom. Maria Antoinette rode in 
the carriage with her husband, and with one 
or two other members of the royal family. 
For some time they rode in silence, Maria, a 
child of impulse, weeping profusely from the 
emotions which moved her soul. But, ere 
long, the morning dawned. The sun rose 
bright and clear over the hills of France, and 
the whole beautiful landscape glittered in the 
light of the most lovely of spring mornings. 
Insensibly the gloom of the mind departed with 
the gloom of night. Conversation commenced. 
The mournful past was forgotten in anticipa- 
tion of the bright future. Some jocular 
remark of the young king's sister elicited a gen- 
eral burst of laughter, when, by common con- 
sent, they wiped away their tears, banished 
all funereal looks, and, a merry party, rode 
merrily along, over hill and dale, to a crown 
and a throne. Little did they dream that 
these sunny hours and this flowery path but 
conducted them to a dungeon and the guillo- 
tine. 

The coronation soon took place at Eheims, 
with the greatest disply of festive magnificence. 
The novelty of a new reign, with a youthful 



60 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

king and queen, elated the versatile French, 
and loud and enthusiastic were the acclamations 
with which Louis and Maria Antoinette were 
greeted whenever they appeared. They were 
both, for a time, very popular with the nation 
at large, though there was in the court a party 
hostile to the queen, who took advantage of 
every act of indiscretion to traduce her char- 
acter and to expose her to ignominy. In these 
efforts they succeeded so effectually as to over- 
whelm themselves in the same ruin which they 
had brought upon their victim. A deep-seated 
but secret grief still preyed upon the heart of 
Maria. Though four years since her marriage 
had now passed away, she was still compara- 
tively, a stranger to her husband. He treated 
her with respect, with politeness, but with 
cold reserve, never approaching her as his 
wife. The queen, possessing naturally a very 
affectionate disposition, was extremely fond of 
children. Despairing of ever becoming a 
mother herself, she thought of adopting some 
pleasant child to be her playmate and friend. 
One day, as she was riding in her carriage, a 
beautiful little peasant boy, about five years 
of age, with large blue eyes and flaxen hair, 
got under the feet of the horses, though he 
was extricated without having received any 
injury. As the grandmother rushed from the 
cottage door to take the child, the queen, 
standing up in her carriage, extended her arms 
to the old woman, and said : 



ENTHRONED. 01 

''The child is mine. God has giveia it to 
me to rear and to cherish. Is his mother 
alive?" 

*'No, madame!" was the reply of the old 
woman. ''My daughter died last winter, and 
left five small children upon my hands." 

"I will take this one, " said the queen, "and 
will also provide for all the rest. Will you 
consent?" 

"Indeed, madame," exclaimed the cottager, 
"they are too fortunate. But I fear Jemmie 
will not stay with you. He is very wayward. ' ' 

The postilion handed Jemmie to the queen 
in the carriage, and she, taking him upon her 
knee, ordered the coachman to drive imme- 
diately to the palace. The ride, however, was 
anything but a pleasant one, for the un- 
governed boy screamed and kicked with the 
utmost violence- during the whole of the way. 
The queen was quite elated with her treasure ; 
for the boy was extremely beautiful, and he 
was soon seen frolicking around her in a white 
frock trimmed with lace, a rose-colored sash, 
with silver fringe, and a hat decorated with 
feathers. I may here mention that the petted 
favorite grew up into a monster of ingratitude, 
and became one of the most sanguinary actors 
in the scenes of terror which subsequently 
ensued. 

One would think that the enemies of Maria 
Antoinette could hardly take advantage of this 



62 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

circumstance to "her injury ; but they atro- 
ciously affirmed that this child was her own 
unacknowledged offspring, whose ignominious 
birth she had concealed. They represented 
the whole adventure but a piece of trickery on 
her jjart, to obtain, without suspicion, posses- 
sion of her own child. Such accusations were 
borne upon the wings of every wind throughout 
Europe, and the deeply-injured queen could 
only submit in silence. 

Another little incident, equally trivial, was 
magnified into the grossest of crimes. The 
Duke de Lauzun appeared one evening at an 
entertainment with a very magnificent plume 
of white heron's feathers. The queen casually 
expressed her admiration of its beauty. A 
lady immediately reported to the duke the re- 
marks of the queen, and assured him that it 
would be a great gratification to her majesty 
to receive a present of the plume.' He, the 
next morning, sent the plume to the queen. 
She was quite embarrassed, being unwilling 
to accept the plume, and yet fearing to wound 
the feelings of the duke by refusing the pres- 
ent. She, on the whole, however, concluded 
to retain it, and wore it 07ice, that she might 
not seem to scorn the present, and then laid 
it aside. It is difficult to conceive how the 
queen could have conducted more discreetly in 
the affair. Such was the story of **The 
Heron's Plume." It was, however, mali- 



ENTHRONED. 63 

ciously reported through Paris that the queen 
was indecently receiving presents from gentle- 
men as her lovers. "The Heron's Plume" 
figured conspicuously in many a satire in 
prose and verse. These shafts, thrown from a 
thousand unseen hands, pierced Maria Antoin- 
ette to the heart. This same Duke de Lauzun, 
a man of noted profligacy, subsequently be- 
came one of the most uorelenting foes of the 
queen. He followed La Fayette to America, 
and then returned to Paris, to plunge, with 
the most reckless gayety, into the whirlpool 
of human passions boiling and whirling there. 
In the conflict of parties he became a victim. 
Condemned to death, he was imprisoned in the 
Conciergerie. Imbruted by atheism, he en- 
tered his cell with a merry song and a joke. 
He furnished a sumptuous repast for the 
prisoners at the hour appointed for his execu- 
tion, and invited the jailers for his guests. 
"When the executioners arrived, he smilingly 
accosted them. *' Gentlemen, I am very 
happy to see you ; just allow me to finish these 
nice oysters." Then, very politely taking a 
decanter of wine, he said, "Your duties will 
be quite arduous to-day, gentlemen ; allow me 
the pleasure of taking a glass of wine with 
you." Thus merrily he ascended the cart, 
and beguiled the ride from the prison to the 
guillotine with the most careless pleasantries. 
Gayly tripping up the steps, he placed him* 



64 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

self in the fatal instrument, and a smile was 
upon his lips, and mirthful words were falling 
upon the ears of the executioners, when the 
slide fell, and he was silent in death. That 
soul must indeed be ignoble which can thus 
enter the dread unseen of futurity. 

There is no end to these acts of injustice in- 
flicted upon the queen. The influences which 
had ever surrounded her had made her very 
fond of dress and gayety. She was devoted to 
a life of pleasure, and was hardly conscious 
that there was anything else to live for. In 
fetes, balls, theaters, operas, and masquerades, 
she passed night after night. Such was the 
only occupation of her life. The king, on the 
contrary, had no taste for any of these amuse- 
ments. Uncompanionable and retiring, he 
lived with his books, and in his workshop 
making trinkets for children. Always retiring 
to rest at the early hour of 11 o'clock pre- 
cisely, he left the queen to pursue her pleas- 
ures until the dawn of the morning, unat- 
tended by him. It was very imprudent in 
Maria Antoinette thus to expose herself to the 
whispers of calumny. She was young, inexpe- 
rienced, and had no judicious advisers. 

One evening she had been out in her car- 
riage, and was returning at rather a late hour, 
the lady of the palace being with her, when 
her carriage broke down at her entrance into 
Paris. The queen and the duchess were both 




Maria Antoinette, . 



The Bread Riots. {See}). 107.) 



ENTHRONED. 65 

masked, and, stepping into an adjoining shop, 
as they were unknown, the queen ordered one 
of the footmen to call a common hackney- 
coach, and they, both entering, drove to the 
opera house, with very much the same sense 
of the ludicrous in being found in so plebeian 
a vehicle, as a New York lady would feel on 
passing through Broadway in a handcart or 
on a wheelbarrow. The fun-loving queen was 
so entertained with the whimsical adventure 
that she could not refrain from exclaiming, as 
soon as she entered the opera house, to the 
intimate friends she met there, *'Only think! 
I came to the opera in a hackney-coach! Was 
it not droll? was it not droll?" The news of 
the indiscretion spread. All Paris was full of 
the adventure. Eumor, with her thousand 
tongues, added innumerable embellishments. 
Neither the delicacy nor the dignity of the 
queen would allow her seriously to attempt 
the refutation of the calumny that, neglected 
by her husband, she had been out in disguise 
to meet a nobleman renowned for his gallant- 
ries. 

Nothing can be more irksome than the fri- 
volities of fashionable lifa. To spend night 
after night, of months and years, in an inces- 
sant round of the same trivial gayeties, so ex- 
hausts all the susceptibilities of enjoyment 
that life itself becomes a burden. Louis XIV. 
had created for himself a sort of elysium of 



66 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

voluptuousness in the celebrated gardens of 
Marly. Spread out upon the gentle declivity 
of an extended hill were grounds embellished 
in the highest style of art, and intended to 
rival the garden of Eden itself in every con- 
ceivable attraction. Pavilions of gorgeous 
architecture crowned the summit of the hill. 
Elowers, groves, enchanting walks, and stat- 
ues of most voluptuous beauty, fountains, 
lakes, cascades foaming over channels of 
whitest marble — all the attractions of nature 
and art were combined to realize the most 
fanciful dreams of splendor and luxury. 
Pleasure was the only god here adored ; but, 
like all false gods, he but rewarded his vota- 
ries with satiety and disgust. 

The queen, with her brilliant retinue, made 
a monthly visit to these palaces and pleasure- 
grounds, and with music, illumination, and 
dances, endeavored to beguile life of its cares. 
A noisy concourse, glittering with diamonds 
and all the embellishments of wealth, thronged 
the embowered avenues and the sumptuous 
halls. And while the young, in the mazes of 
the dance, and in the uneasy witchery of win- 
ning and losing hearts, were all engrossed, the 
old, in the still deeper but ignoble passion of 
deoperate gaming, forgot gliding time and ap- 
proaching eternity. But the spirit of Maria 
was soon weary of this heartless gayety. Each 
succeeding visit became more irksome, £knd at 



ENTHRONED. 67 

last, in inexpressible disgust with the weary 
monotony of fashionable dissipation, she de- 
clared that she would never enter the gardens of 
Marly again. But she must have some occupa- 
tion. "What shall she do to give wings to the 
lagging hours? 

*'Has your majesty," timidly suggests a 
lady of the court, **ever seen the sun rise?" 

"The sun rise!" exclaimed the queen; **no, 
never! "What a beautiful sight it must be! 
What a romantic adventure! we will go to- 
morrow morning." 

The plan was immediately arranged. The 
prosaic king would take no part in it. He pre- 
ferred quietly to slumber upon his pillow. A 
few hours after midnight, the queen, with 
several gentlemen, and her attendant ladies, 
all in high glee, left the palace in their car- 
riages to ascend the lofty eminence of the gar- 
dens of Marly to witness the sublime spectacle. 
Thousands of the humbler classes had already 
left their beds and commenced their daily toil, 
as the brilliant cavalcade swept by them on 
this novel excursion. It was, however, a freak 
so strange, so unaccountable, so contrary to 
anything ever known before, that this nocturnal 
party became the theme of universal conversa- 
tion. It was whispered that there must have 
been some mysterious wickedness connected 
with an adventure so marvelous. Groups upon 
the Boulevards inquired, '*Why is the queen 



68 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

thus frolicking at midnight without her hus- 
band?" In a few days a ballad appeared, 
which was sung by the vilest lips in the ware- 
houses of infamy, full of the most malignant 
charges against the queen. Maria Antoinette 
was imprudent, very imprudent, and that was 
her only crime. 

Still, the young queen must have amuse- 
ments. She is weary of parade and splendor, 
and seeks in simplicity the novelty of enjoy- 
ment. Dressed in white muslin, with a plain 
straw hat, and a little switch in her hand, she 
might often be seen walking on foot, followed 
by a single servant, through the embowered 
paths which surrounded the Petit Trianon. 
Through lanes and byways she would chase 
the butterfly, and pick flowers free as a peasant 
girl, and lean over the fences to chat with the 
country maids as they milked the cows. This 
entire freedom from restraint was etiquette in 
the court of Vienna ; it was regarded as bar- 
barism in the court of Versailles. The cour- 
tiers were amazed at conduct so unqueenly. 
The ceremony-stricken dowagers were shocked. 
Pairs, France, Europe, were filled with stories 
^of the waywardness, and eccentricities, and 
improprieties of the young queen. The loud 
complaints were poured so incessantly in the 
ear of Maria Theresa that at last she sent a 
special ambassador to Versailles, in disguise, 
as a spy upon her daughter. He reported, 
*'The queen is imprudent, that is all." 



ENTHRONED. 69 

There happened, in a winter of unusual in- 
clemency, a heavy fall of snow. It was a rare 
sight at Versailles. Maria Antoinette, re- 
minded of the merry sleigh rides she had en- 
joyed in the more northern home of her child- 
hood, was eager to renew the pleasure. Some 
antiquated sledges were found in the stables. 
New ones, gay and graceful, were constructed. 
The horses, with nodding plumes, and gor- 
geous caparisons, and tinkling bells, dazzled 
the eyes of the Parisians as they swept through 
the Champs Elysees, drawing their loads of 
lords and ladies enveloped in furs. It was a 
new amusement — an innovation. Envious and 
angry lips declared that *'the Austrian, with 
an Austrian heart, was intruding the customs 
of Vienna upon Paris.* These ungenerous 
complaints reached the ear of the queen, and 
she instantly relinquished the amusement. 

Still the queen is weary. Time hangs 
heavily upon her hands. All the pleasures of 
the court have palled upon her appetite, and 
she seeks novelty. She introduces into the 
retired apartments of the Little Trianon, 
'^blindman's buff," '*fox and geese," and 
other similar games, and joins heartily in the 
fun and the frolic. *'A queen playing blind- 
man's buff!" Simpletons — and the world is 
full of simpletons — raised their hands and 
eyes in affected horror. Private dramatic en- 
tertainments were got up to relieve the tedium 



70 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

of unemployed time. The queen learns her 
part, and appears in the character and costume 
of a peasant girl. Her genius excites much 
admiration, and. intoxicated with this new 
pleasure, she repeats the entertainment, and 
alike excels in all characters, whether comic or 
tragic. The number of spectators is gradually 
increased. Louis is not exactly pleased to see 
his queen transformed into an actress, even in 
the presence only of the most intimate friends 
of the court. Half jocosely, half seriously, 
amid the rounds of applause with which the 
royal actress is greeted, he hisses. It was 
deemed extremely derogatory to the dignity of 
the queen that she should indulge in such 
amusements, and every gossiping tongue in 
Paris was soon magnifying her indiscretions. 

Eight years had now passed away since the 
marriage of Maria Antoinette, and still she 
was in name only the wife of Louis. She was 
still a young lady, for he had never yet ap- 
proached her with any familiarity with which 
he would not approach any young lady of his 
court. But about this time the king gradually 
manifested more tenderness toward her. He 
began really and tenderly to love her. "With 
tears of joy, she confided to her friends the 
great change which had taken place in his con- 
duct. The various troubles and embarrass- 
ments which began now to lower about the 
throne and to darken their path, bound their 



ENTHRONED. 71 

sympathies more strongly together. Stren- 
uous efforts were made to alienate the king 
from the queen by exciting his jealousy. 
Maria was accused of the grossest immoralities, 
and insinuations to her injury were ever whis- 
pered into the ear of the kiog. 

One morning Madame Campan entered the 
queen's chamber when she was in bod. Several 
letters were lying upon the bed by her side, and 
she was weeping as though her heart would 
break. She immediately exclaimed, covering 
her swollen eyes with her hands, ''Oh! I wish 
that I were dead ! I wish that I were dead ! 
The wretches ! the monsters ! what have I done 
that they should treat me thus ! it would be better 
to kill me at once." Then, throwing her arms 
around the neck of Madame Campan, she burst 
more passionately into tears. All attempts to 
console her were unavailing. Neither was she 
willing to confide the cause of her heart-rend- 
ing grief. After some time she regained her 
usual serenity, and said, with an attempted 
smile, *'I know that I have made you very un- 
comfortable this morning, and I must set your 
poor heart at ease. You must have seen, on 
some fine summer's day, a black cloud sud- 
denly appear, and threaten to pour down upon 
the country and lay it in waste. The lightest 
wind drives it away, and the blue sky and 
serene weather are restored. This is just the 
image of what has happened to me this morn- 
ing." 



72 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Notwithstanding, however, these efforts of 
the malignant, the king became daily more 
and more strongly attached to the queen. In 
the embarrassments which were gathering 
around him, he felt the support of her ener- 
getic mind, and looked to her counsel with 
continually increasing confidence. It was 
about nine years after their marriage when 
their first child was born. Three others were 
subsequently added to their family. Two, 
however, of the children, a son and a daughter, 
died in early childhood, leaving two others, 
Maria Theresa and Louis Charles, to share and 
to magnify those woes which subsequently 
overwhelmed the whole royal family. 

During all these early years of their reign, 
Versailles was their favorite and almost con- 
stant abode. They were visited occasionally 
by monarchs from the other courts of Europe, 
whom they entertained with the utmost dis- 
play of royal grandeur. Bonfires and illumi- 
nations turned night into day in the groves and 
gardens of those gorgeous palaces. Thousands 
were feasted in boundless profusion. Millions 
of money were expended in the costly amuse- 
ments of kings, and queens, and haughty 
nobles. The people, by whose toil the reve- 
nues of the kingdom were furnished, looked 
from a humble distance upon the glittering 
throng, gliding through the avenues, charioted 
in splendor, and now and then a deep thinker, 




Mai la into nettt 

La Fayette Reassuring the Queen. {Seep. 108) 



ENTHRONED. TS 

struggling against poverty and want, would 
thus soliloquize: "Why do we thus toil to 
minister to the useless luxury of these our im- 
perious masters? Why must I eat black 
bread, and be clothed in the coarsest garments, 
that these lords and ladies may glitter in 
jewelry and revel in luxury ? Why must my 
children toil like bond slaves through life, 
that the children of these nobles may be 
clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare 
sumptuously every day?" The multitude 
were bewildered by the glare of royalty. But 
here and there a sullen fishwoman, leading her 
ragged, half-starved children, would mumble 
and mutter, and curse the "Austrian," as the 
beautiful queen swept by in her gorgeous 
equipage. These discontents and portentous 
marmurswere spreading rapidly, when neither 
king, queen, nor courtiers dreamed of their 
existence. 

A few had heard of America, its freedom, 
its equality, its fame even for the poorest, its 
competence. La Fayette had gone to help the 
Republicans crush the crown and the throne. 
Franklin was in Paris, the ambassador from 
America, in garb and demeanor as simple and 
frugal as the humblest citizen, and all Paris 
gazed upon him with wonder and admiration. 
A few bold spirits began to whisper, "Let us 
also have no king." The fires of a volcano 
were kindling under the whole structure of 



74 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

French society. It was time that the mighty 
fabric of corruption should be tumbled into 
the dust. The splendor and the extravagance 
of these royal festivities added but fuel to the 
flame. The people began to compute the ex- 
pense of bonfires, palaces, equipages, crown 
jewels, and courtiers. It is extremely imper- 
tinent, Maria thought and said, for the people 
to meddle in matters with which they have no 
concern. Slaves have no right to question the 
conduct of their masters. It was the misfor- 
tune of her education, and of the influences 
which ever surrounded her, that she never 
imagined that kings and queens were created 
for any other purpose than to live in luxury. 
The Empress Catharine II. of Eussia, as these 
discontents were loud and threatening, wrote 
to Maria Antoinette a letter, in which she 
says, ''Kings and queens ought to proceed in 
their career undisturbed by the cries of the 
people, as the moon pursues her course unim- 
peded by the howling of dogs." This was 
then the spirit of the throne. 

And now the davs of calamity began to grow 
darker. Intrigues were multiplied, involving 
Maria in interminable difficulties. There 
were instinctive presentiments of an approach- 
ing storm. Death came into the royal palace, 
and distorted the form of her eldest son, 
and by lingering tortures dragged him to the 
grave. And then her little daughter was taken 



ENTHRONED. 



75 



from her. Maria watched at the couch of 
suffering and death with maternal anguish. 
The glowing heart of a mother throbbed within 
the bosom of Maria. The heartlessness and 




Festivities at Versailles. 

emptiness of all other pursuits had but given 
intensity to the fervor of a mother's love. 
Though but twenty -three years of age, she had 
drained every cup of pleasure to its dregs. 
And now she began to enter upon a path every 
year more dark, dreary, and desolate. 




CHAPTEB IV. 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 



About this time there occurred an event 
which, though apparently trivial, involved 
consequences of the most momentous impor- 
tance. It was merely the fraudulent purchase 
of a necklace, by a profligate woman, in the 
name of the queen. The circumstances were 
such as to throw all France into agitation, and 
Europe was full of the story. '^Mind that 
miserable affair of the necklace," said Talley- 
rand; **I should be nowise surprised if it 
should overturn the French monarchy." To 
understand this mysterious occurrence, we 
must first allude to two very important char- 
acters implicated in the conspiracy. 

The Cardinal de Eohan, though one of the 
highest dignitaries of the church, and of the 
most illustrious rank, was a young man of 
vain and shallow mind, of great profligacy of 
character, and perfectly prodigal in squander- 
ing, in ostentatious pomp, all the revenues 
within his reach. He had been sent an am- 
bassador to the court of Vienna. Surrounding 

himself with a retinue of spendthrift gentle- 
76 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 77 

men, he endeavored to dazzle the Austrian 
capital with more than regal magnificence. 
Expending six or seven hundred thousand dol- 
lars in the course of a few months, he soon be- 
came involved in inextricable embarrassments. 
In the extremity of his distress, he took ad- 
vantage of his official station, and engaged in 
smuggling with so much effrontery that he 
almost inundated the Austrian capital with 
French goods. Maria Theresa was extremely 
displeased, and, without reserve, expressed 
her strong disapproval of his conduct, both as 
a bishop and as an ambassador. The cardinal 
was consequently recalled, and, disappointed 
and mortified, he hovered around the court of 
Versailles, where he was treated with the ut- 
most coldness. He was extremely anxious 
again to bask in the beams of royal favor. 
But the queen indignantly repelled all his ad- 
vances. His proud spirit was nettled to the 
quick by his disgrace, and he was ripe for any 
desperate adventure to retrieve his ruined for- 
tunes. 

There was, at the same time, at Versailles, 
a very beautiful woman, the Countess Lamotte. 
She traced her lineage to the kings of 
France, and, by her vices, struggled to sustain 
a style of ostentatious gentility. She was 
consumed by an insatiable thirst for recog- 
nizer!, rank and wealth, and she had no con- 
science to interfere, in the slightest degree, 



78 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

with any means which might lead to those re- 
sults. Though somewhat notorious, as a 
woman of pleasure, to the courtiers who flitted 
around the throne, the queen had never seen 
her face, and had seldom heard even her name. 
Versailles was too much thronged with such 
characters for any one to attract any special 
attention. 

Maria Antoinette, in her earlier days, had 
been extremely fond of dress, and particularly 
of rich jewelry. She brought with her from 
Vienna a large number of pearls and diamonds. 
Upon her accession to the throne, she received, 
of course, all the crown jewels. Louis XV. 
had also presented her with all the jewels be- 
longing to his daughter, the dauphiness, who 
had recently died, and also with a very mag- 
nificent collar of pearls, of a single row, the 
smallest of which was as large as a filbert. 
The king, her husband, had, not long before, 
presented her with a set of rubies and diamonds 
of a fine water, and with a pair of bracelets 
which cost forty thousand dollars. Boehmer, 
the crown jeweler, had collected, at a great ex- 
pense, six pear-formed diamonds, of prodi- 
gious size. They were perfectly matched, and 
of the finest water. They were arranged as 
earrings. He offered them to the queen for 
eighty thousand dollars. The young and 
royal bride could not resist the desire of adding 
them, costly as they were, to her casket of 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. ?9 

gems. She, however, economically removed 
two of the diamonds which formed the tops of 
the clusters, and replaced them by two of her 
own. The jeweler consented to this arrange- 
ment, and received the reduced price of 
seventy-two thousand dollars, to be paid in 
equal installments for five years, from the 
private purse of the queen. Still the queen 
felt rather uneasy in view of her unnecessary 
purchase. Murmurs of her extravagance began 
to reach her ears. Satiated with gayety and 
weary of jewels, as a child throws aside its 
playthings, Maria Antoinette lost all fondness 
for her costly treasures, and began to seek 
novelty in the utmost simplicity of attire, and 
in the most artless joys of rural life. Her 
gorgeous dresses hung neglected in their ward- 
robes. Her gems, "of purest ray serene,'* 
slept in the darkness of the unopened casket. 
The queen had become a mother, and all those 
warm and noble affections which had been 
diffused and wasted upon frivolities, were now 
concentrated with intensest ardor upon her 
children. A new era had dawned upon Maria 
Antoinette. Her soul, by nature exalted, was 
beginning to find objects worthy of its ener- 
gies. Eapidly she was groping her way from 
the gloom of the most wretched of all lives — a 
life of pleasure and of self-indulgence — to the 
true and ennobling happiness of benevolence 
and self-sacrifice. 



80 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Bcehraer, the jeweler, unaware of the great 
change which had taken place in the character 
of the queen, resolved to form for her the most 
magnificent necklace which was ever seen in 
Europe. He busied himself for several years 
in collecting the most valuable diamonds cir- 
culating in commerce, and thus composed a 
necklace of several rows, whose attractions, he 
hoped, would be irresistible to the queen. In 
the purchase of these brilliant gems the 
jeweler had expended far more than his own 
fortune. For many of them he owed large 
sums, and his only hope of paying these debts 
was in effecting a sale to the queen. 

Boehmer requested Madame Campan to in- 
form the queen what a beautiful necklace he 
had arranged, hoping that she might express 
a desire to see it. This, however, Madame 
Campan declined doing, as she did not wish to 
tempt the queen to incur the expense of three 
hundred and twenty thousand dollars, the 
price of the glittering bauble. Boehmer, 
after endeavoring for some time in vain to get 
the gems exposed to the eye of the queen, in- 
duced a courtier high in rank to show the 
superb necklace to his majesty. The king, 
now loving the queen most tenderly, wished to 
see her adorned with this unparalleled orna- 
ment, and sent the case to the queen for her 
inspection. Maria Antoinette replied that 
she had already as many beautiful diamonds 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 81 

as she desired ; that jewels were now worn but 
seldom at court; that she could not think it 
right to encourage so great an expense for such 
ornaments; and that the money they would 
cost would be much better expended in build- 
ing a man-of-war. The king concurred in this 
prudent decision, and the diamonds were 
returned to the jeweler from their majesties 
with this answer: *'We have more need of 
ships than of diamonds. " 

Boehmer was in great trouble, and knew not 
what to do. He spent a year in visiting the 
other courts of Europe, hoping to induce some 
of the sovereigns to purchase his necklace, but 
in vain. Almost in despair, he returned again 
to Versailles, and proposed the king should 
take it, and pay for it partly in instalments 
and partly in life annuities. The king men- 
tioned it again to the queen. She replied, 
that if his majesty wished to purchase the 
necklace, and keep it for their daughter, he 
might do so. But she declared that she her- 
self should never be willing to wear it, for she 
could not expose herself to those censures for 
extravagance which she knew would be lavished 
upon her. 

The jeweler complained loudly and bitterly 
of his misfortune. The necklace having been 
exhibited all over Europe, his troubles were a 
matter of general conversation. After several 
months of great perplexity and anxiety, Boeh- 

I — Antoinette 



82 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

mer succeeded in gaining an audience of the 
queen. Passionately throwing himself upon 
his knees before her, clasping his hands and 
bursting into tears, he exclaimed : 

*' Madame, I am disgraced and ruined if jou 
do not purchase my necklace. I cannot outlive 
my misfortunes. When I go hence I shall 
throw myself into the river." 

The queen, extremely displeased, said : 
* Eise, Boehmer! I do not like these rhap- 
sodies ; honest men have no occasion to fall 
upon their knees to make known their requests. 
If you were to destroy yourself, I should re- 
gret you as a madman in whom I had taken an 
interest, but I should not be responsible for 
that misfortune. I not only never ordered the 
article which causes your present despair, but, 
whenever you have talked to me about fine col- 
lections of jewels, I have told you that I 
should not add four diamonds -to those I 
aready possessed. I told you myself that I de- 
clined taking the necklace The king wished 
to give it to me; I refused him in the same 
manner. Then never mention it to me again. 
Divide it, and endeavor to sell it piecemeal, 
and do not drown yourself. I am very angry 
with you for acting this scene of despair in my 
presence, and before this child. Let me never 
see you behave thus again. Go!" 

Boehmer, overwhelmed with confusion, re- 
tired, and the queen, oppressed with a multi- 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 83 

tude of gathering cares, for some months 
thought no more of him or of his jewels. One 
day the queen was reposing listlessly upon her 
couch with Madame Campan and other ladies 
of honor about her, when, suddenly addressing 
Madame Campan, she iaquired : 

*'Have you ever heard what poor Boehmer 
did with his unfortunate necklace?" 

*'I have heard nothing of it since he left 
you," was the reply, *' though I often meet 
him." 

**I should really like to know how the un- 
fortunate man got extricated from his embar- 
rassments," rejoined the queen; ''and, when 
you next see him, I wish you would inquire, 
as if from your own interest in the aifair, 
without any allusion to me, how he disposed 
of the article. " 

In a few days Madame Campan met Boeh- 
mer, and, in reply to her interrogatories, he 
informed her that the sultan at Constantinople 
had purchased it for the favorite sultana. 
The queen was highly gratified with the good 
fortune of the jeweler, and yet thought it very 
strange how the grand seignior should have 
purchased his diamonds at Paris. Matters 
continued in this state for some time, until the 
baptism of the Duke d 'Angouleme, Maria 
Antoinette's infant son. The king made his 
idolized boy a baptismal present of a diamond 
epaulette and buckles, which he purchased of 



84 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Boehmer, and directed him to deliver to the 
queen. As the jeweler presented them, he 
slipped into the queen's hand a letter, in the 
form of a petition, containing the following 
expression : 

**I am happy to see your majesty in the pos- 
session of the finest diamonds in Europe ; and I 
entreat your majesty not to forget me." 

The queen read this strange note aloud, 
again and again exclaiming : ** What does the 
man mean? He must be insane!" She 
quietly lighted the note at a wax taper which 
was standing near her, and burned it, remark- 
ing that it was not worth keeping. Afterward, 
as she reflected more upon the enigmatical 
nature of the communication, she deeply re- 
gretted that she had not preserved the note. 
She pondered the matter deeply and anxiously, 
and at last said to Madame Campan : 

*'The next time you see that man, I wish 
that you would tell him that I have lost all 
taste for diamonds ; that I never shall buy 
another as long as I live ; and that, if I had 
any money to spare, I should expend it in 
purchasing lands to enlarge the grounds at St. 
Cloud." 

A few days after this, Boehmer called upon 
Madame Campan at her country house, ex- 
tremely uneasy at not having received any an- 
swer from the queen, and anxiously inquired 
if Madame Campan had no commission to him 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 85 

from her majesty. Madame Campan faith- 
fully repeated to him all that the queen had 
requested her to say. 

*'But, " rejoined Boehmer, *Hhe answer to 
the letter I presented to her ! To whom must 
I apply for that?" 

''To no one," was the reply; "her majesty 
burned your memorial, without even compre- 
hending its meaning." 

**Ah, madame!" exclaimed the man, trem- 
bling with agitation, "that is impossible; the 
queen knows that she has money to pay me." 

"Money, M. Boehmer!" replied the lady, 
"your last accounts against the queen were 
discharged long ago." 

"And are you not in the secret?" he re- 
joined. "The queen owes me three hundred 
thousand dollars, and I am ruined by her neg- 
lect to pay me. ' ' 

"Three hundred thousand dollars!" ex- 
claimed Madame Campan, in amazement; 
"man, you have lost your senses! For what 
does she owe you that enormous sum?" 

"For the necklace, madame, " replied the 
jeweler, now pale and trembling with the ap- 
prehension that he had been deceived. 

"The necklace again!" said Madame Cam- 
pan. "How long is the queen to be teased 
about that necklace? Did not you yourself 
tell me that you had sold it at Constantino- 
ple?" 



86 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

*'The queen," added Boehmer, '^requested 
me to make that reply to all who inquired 
upon the subject, for she was not willing to 
have it known that she had made the purchase. 
She, however, had determined to have the 
necklace, and sent the Cardinal de Kohan to 
me to take it in her name." 

*^You are utterly deceived, Boehmer," 
Madame Campan replied; ''the queen knows 
nothing about your necklace. She never 
speaks even to the Cardinal de Eohan, and 
there is no man at court more strongly disliked 
by her." 

**Tou may depend upon it, madame, that 
you are deceived yourself," rejoined the 
jeweler. *'She must hold private interviews 
with the cardinal, for she gave to the cardial 
six thousand dollars, which he paid me on 
account, and which he assured me he saw her 
take from the little porcelain secretary next 
the fireplace in her boudoir.''^ 

''Did the cardinal himself assure you of 
this?" inquired Madame Campan. 

"Yes, madame," was the reply. 

"What a detestable plot! There is not one 
word of truth in it; and you have been mis- 
erably deceived," 

"I confess, " Boehmer rejoined, now trem- 
bling in every joint, "that I have felt very anx- 
ious about it for some time; for the cardinal 
assured me that the queen would wear the 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 87 

necklace on Whitsunday. I was, however, 
alarmed in seeing that she did not wear it, and 
that induced me to write the letter to her 
majesty. But what shall I do?" 

**Go immediately to Versailles, and lay the 
whole matter before the king. But you have 
been extremely culpable, as crown jeweler, in 
acting in a matter of such great importance 
without direct orders from the king or queen, 
or their accredited minister." 

*'I have not acted," the unhappy man re- 
plied, "without direct orders. I have now in 
my possession all the promissory notes, signed 
by the queen herself ; and I have been obliged 
to show those notes to several bankers, my 
creditors, to induce them to extend the time 
of my payments." 

Instead, however, of following Madame 
Campan's judicious advice, Boehmer, half de- 
lirious with solicitude, went directly to the 
cardinal, and informed him of all that had 
transpired. The cardinal appeared very much 
embarrassed, asked a few questions, and said 
but little. He, however, wrote in his diary 
the following memorandum: *'0n this day, 
August 3, Boehmer went to Madame Campan's 
country house, and she told him that the queen 
had never had his necklace, and that he had 
been cheated." 

Boehmer was almost frantic with terror, for 
the lorn of the necklace was his utter and irre- 



88 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

mediable ruin. Finding no relief in his intei 
view with the cardinal, he hastened to Little 
Trianon, and sent a message to the queen that 
Madame Campan wished him to see her imme- 
diately. The queen, who knew nothing of the 
occurrences we have just related, exclaimed : 
*'That man is surely mad. I have nothing to 
say to him, and 1 will not see him." Ma- 
dame Campan, however, immediately called 
upon the queen, for she was very much alarmed 
by what she had heard, and related to her the 
whole occurrence. The queen was exceedingly 
amazed and perplexed, and feared that it was 
some deep-laid plot to involve her in difficul- 
ties. She questioned Madame Campan very 
minutely in reference to every particular of 
the interview, and insisted upon her repeating 
the conversation over and over again. They 
then went immediately to the king, and narrated 
to him the whole affair. He, aware of the 
many efforts which had been made to traduce 
the character of Maria Antoinette, and to ex- 
pose her to public contumely, was at once con- 
vinced that it was a treacherous plot of the 
cardinal in revenge for his neglect at court. 

The king instantly sent a command for the 
cardinal to meet him and the queen in the 
king's closet. He was, apparently, anticipat- 
ing the summons, for he, without delay, ap- 
peared before them in all the pomp of his pon- 
tifical robes, but was nevertheless so embar- 







Maria Antoinette, 



The Royal Family in Despair. {See p. 170.) 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 89 

rassed that he could with difficulty articulate 
a sentence. 

''You have purchased diamonds of Boeh- 
mer?" inquired the king. 

*'Yes, sire," was the trembling reply. 

''What have you done with them?" the king 
added. 

"I thought," said the cardinal, "that they 
had been delivered to the queen." 

"Who commissioned you to make this pur- 
chase?" 

"The Countess Lamotte," was the reply. 
"She handed me a letter from the queen re- 
questing me to obtain the necklace for her. I 
truly thought that I was obeying her majesty's 
wishes, and doing her a favor, by taking this 
business upon myself." 

"How could you imagine, sir," indignantly 
interrupted the queen, "that I should have 
selected you for such a purpose, when I have 
not even spoken to you for eight years? and 
how could you suppose that I should have 
acted through the mediation of such a char- 
acter as the Countess Lamotte?" 

The cardinal was in the most violent agita- 
tion, and, apparently hardly knowing what he 
said, replied: "I see plainly that I have been 
duped. I will pay for the necklace myself. 
I suspected no trick in the affair, and am ex- 
tremely sorry that I have had anything to do 
with it." 



90 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

He then took a letter from his pocket 
directed to the Countess Lamotte, and signed 
with the queen's name, requesting her to 
secure the purchase of the necklace. The king 
and queen looked at the letter, and instantly 
pronounced it a forgery. The king then took 
from his own pocket a letter addressed to the 
jeweler Boehmer, and^ handing it to De 
Eohan, said : 

*'Are you the author of that letter?'* 

The cardinal turned pale, and, leaning upon 
his hand, appeared as though he would fall to 
the floor. 

"I have no wish, cardinal," the king kindly 
replied, *'to find you guilty. Explain to me 
this enigma. Account for all these maneuvers 
with Boehmer. Where did you obtain these 
securities and these promissory notes, signed 
in the queen's name, which have been given to 
Boehmer?" 

The cardinal, trembling in every nerve, 
faintly replied, "Sire, I am too much agitated 
now to answer your majesty. Give me a little 
time to collect my thoughts." 

"Compose yourself, then, cardinal," the 
king added. "Go into my cabinet. You will 
there find papers, pens, and ink. At your 
leisure write what you have to say to me." 

In about half an hour the cardinal returned 
with a paper, covered with erasures, and 
alterations, and blottings, as confused and un- 



. THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 91 

satisfactory as his verbal statements had been. 
An officer was then summoned into the royal 
presence, and commanded to take the cardinal 
into custody and conduct him to the Bastile. 
He was, however, permitted to visit his home. 
The cardinal, contrived, by the way, to scribble 
a line upon a scrap of paper, and, catching 
the eye of a trusty servant, he, unobserved, 
slipped it into his hand. It was a direction 
to the servant to hasten to the palace, with the 
utmost possible speed and commit to the flames 
all of his private papers. The king had also 
sent officers to the cardinal's palace to seize his 
papers and seal them for examination. By 
almost superhuman exertions the cardinal's 
servant first arrived at the palace, which was 
at the distance of several miles. His horse 
dropped dead in the courtyard. The import- 
ant documents, which might, perhaps, have 
shed light upon this mysterious affair, were 
all consumed. 

The Countess Lamotte was also arrested, and 
held in close confinement to await her trial. 
She had just commenced living in a style of 
extraordinary splendor, and had vast sums at 
her disposal, acquired no one knew how. It 
is difficult to imagine the excitement which 
this story produced all over Europe. It was 
represented that the queen was found engaged 
in a swindling transaction with a profligate 
woman to cheat the crown jeweler out of gems 



92 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

of inestimable value, and that, being detected, 
she was employing all the influence of the crown 
to shield her own reputation by consigning the 
innocent cardinal to infamy. The enemies of 
the queen, sustained by the ecclesiastics gen- 
erally, rallied around the cardinal. The king 
and queen, feeling that his acquittal would be 
the virtual condemnation of Maria Antoinette, 
and firmly convinced of his guilt, exerted their 
utmost influence in self-defense to bring him 
to punishment. Rumors and counter rumors 
floated through Yersailles, Paris, and all the 
courts of the continent. The tale was rehearsed 
in salon and cafe with every conceivable addi- 
tion and exaggeration, and the queen hardly 
knew which way to turn from the invectives 
which were so mercilessly showered upon her. 
Her lofty spirit, conscious of rectitude, sustained 
her in public, and there she nerved herself to 
appear with firmness and equanimity. But in 
the retirement of her boudoir she was unable 
to repel the most melancholy imaginings, and 
often wept with almost the anguish of a burst- 
ing heart. The sunshine of her life had now 
disappeared. Each succeeding day grew 
darker and darker with enveloping glooms. 
The trial of the cardinal continued, with 
various interruptions, for more than a year. 
Yery powerful parties were formed for and 
against him. All France was agitated by the 
protracted contest. The cardinal appeared 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 93 

before his judges in mourning robes, but with 
all the pageantry of tbe most imposing eccles- 
iastical costume. He was conducted into court 
with much ceremony, and treated with the 
greatest deference. In the trying moment in 
which he first appeared before his judges, his 
courage seemed utterly to fail him. Pale and 
trembling with emotion, his knees bent under 
him, and he had to cling to a support to pre- 
vent himself from falling to the floor. Five 
or six voices immediately addressed him in- 
tones of sympathy, and the president said: 
*'His eminence the cardinal is at liberty to sit 
down, if he wishes it." The distinguished 
prisoner immediately took his seat with the 
members of the court. Having soon recovered 
in some degree his composure, he arose, and 
for half an hour addressed his judges, with 
much feeling and dignity, repeating his pro- 
testations of entire innocence in the whole 
affair. 

At the close of this protracted trial, the car- 
dinal was fully acquitted of all guilt by a 
majority of three voices. The king and queen 
were extremely chagrined at this result. Dur- 
ing the trial, many insulting insinuations were 
thrown out against the queen which could not 
easily be repelled. A friend who called upon 
her immediately after the decision, found her 
in her closet weeping bitterly. *'Come, " said 
Maria, ''come and weep for your queen, in- 



94 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

suited and sacrificed by cabal and injustice.'* 
The king came in at the same moment, and 
said: *'You find the queen much afiiicted; sho 
has great reason to be so. They were determ^ 
ined throughout this affair to see only an 
ecclesiastical prince, a Prince de Eohan, while 
he is, in fact, a needy fellow, and all this was 
but a scheme to put money into his pockets. 
It is not necessary to be an Alexander to cut 
this Gordian knot." The cardinal subse- 
quently emigrated to Germany, where he lived 
in comparative obscurity till 1803, when he 
died. 

The Countess Lamotte was brought to trial, 
but with a painfuUy different result. Dressed 
in the richest and most costlj robes, the dis- 
solute beauty appeared before her judges, and 
astonished them all by her imperturbable self- 
possession, her talents, and her cool effrontery. 
It was clearly proved that she had received the 
necklace ; that she had sold here and there the 
diamonds of which it was composed, and had 
thus come into possession of large sums of 
money. She told all kinds of stories, contra- 
dicting herself in a thousand ways, accusing 
now one and again another as an accomplice, 
and unblushingly declaring that she had no 
intention to tell the truth, for that neither she 
nor the cardinal had uttered one single word 
before the court which had not been false. 
She was found guilty, and the following horri- 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 95 

ble sentence was pronounced against her ; that 
she should be whipped upon the bare back in 
the courtyard of the prison ; that the letter V 
should be burned into the flesh on each shoul- 
der with a hot iron ; and that nhe should be 
imprisoned for life. The king and queen 
were as much displeased with the terrible bar- 
barity of the punishment of the countess as 
they were chagrined at the acquittal of the car- 
dinal. As the countess was a descendant of 
the royal family, they felt that the ignomin- 
ious character of the punishment was intended 
as a stigma upon them. 

As the countess was sitting one morning in 
the spacious room provided for her in the 
prison, in a loose robe, conversing gayly with 
some friends, and surrounded by all the appli- 
ances of wealth, an attendant appeared to con- 
duct her into the presence of the judges. 
Totally unprepared for the awful doom im- 
pending over her, she rose with careless alac- 
rity and entered the court. The terrible sen- 
tence was pronounced. Immediately terror, 
rage, and despair seized upon her, and a scene 
of horror ensued which no pen can describe. 
Before the sentence was finished, she threw 
herself upon the floor, and uttered the most 
piercing shrieks and screams. The tumult of 
agitation into which she was thrown, dreadful 
as it was, relaxed not the stern rigor of the 
law. The executioner immediately seized her, 

8 — Antoinetta 



96 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

and dragged her, shrieking and struggling in 
a delirium of frenzy, into the courtyard of 
the prison. As her eye fell upon the instru- 
roents of her ignominious and brutal punish- 
ment, she seized upon one of her executioners 
with her teeth, and tore a mouthful of flesh 
from his arm. She was thrown upon the 
ground, her garments, with relentless violence, 
were stripped from her back, and the lash 
mercilessly cut its way into her quivering 
nerves, while her awful screams pierced the 
damp, chill air of the morning. The hot irons 
were brought, and simmered upon her recoil- 
ing flesh. The unhappy creature was then 
carried, mangled and bleeding, and half-dead 
with torture, and terror, and madness, to the 
prison hospital. After nine months of im- 
prisonment she was permitted to escape. She 
fled to England, and was found one morning 
dead upon the pavements of London, having 
been thrown from a third story window in a 
midnight carousal. 

Such was the story of the Diamond Necklace. 
Though no one can now doubt that Maria An- 
toinette was perfectly innocent in the whole 
affair, it, at the time, furnished her enemies 
with weapons against her, which they used 
with fatal efficiency. It was then represented 
that the Countess Lamotte was an accomplice 
of the queen in the fraudulent acquisition of 
the necklace, and that the Cardinal de Kohan 




Maria Antoinette 

Louis XVI, and the Mob. {Seep. 175.) 



THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 97 

was their deluded but innocent victim. The 
horrible punishment of Madame Lamotte, who 
boasted that royal blood circulated in her 
veins, was understood to be in contempt of 
royalty, and as the expression of venomous 
feeling toward the queen. Both Maria An- 
toinette and Louis felt it as such, and were 
aggrieved by the acquittal of the cardinal and 
the barbarous punishment of the countess. 

Whether the cardinal was a victim or an ac- 
complice is a question which never has been, 
and now never can be, decided. The mystery 
in which the affair is involved must remain a 
mystery until the secrets of all hearts are re- 
vealed at the great day of judgment. If he 
was the guilty instigator, and the poor countess 
but his tool and victim, how much has he yet 
to be accountable for in the just retributions 
of eternity ! There were three suppositions 
adopted by the community in the attempt to 
solve the mystery of this transaction : 

1. The first was, that the queen had really 
employed the Countess Lamotte to obtain the 
necklace by deceiving the cardinal. That it 
was a trick by which the queen and the count- 
ess were to obtain the necklace, and, by selling 
it piecemeal, to share the spoil, leaving the 
cardinal responsible for the payment. This 
was the view the enemies of Maria Antoinette, 
almost without exception, took of the case; 
and the sentence of acquittal of the cardinal^ 



98 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

and the horrible condemnation of the countess, 
were intended to sustain this view. This 
opinion, spread through Paris and France, was 
very influential in rousing that animosity 
which conducted Maria Antoinette to sufferings 
more poignant and to a doom more awful than 
the Countess Lamotte could possibly endure. 

2. The second supposition was that the car- 
dinal and the countess forged the signature of 
the queen to defraud the jeweler ; that they 
thus obtained the rich prize of three hundred 
and twenty thousand dollars, intending to 
divide the spoil between them, and throw the 
obloquy of the transaction upon the queen. 
The king and queen were both fully convinced 
that this was the true explanation of the fraud, 
and they retained this belief undoubted until 
they died. 

3. The third supposition, and that which 
now is almost universally entertained, was, 
that the crafty woman Lamotte, by forgery, 
and by means of an accomplice, who very 
much, in figure, resembled Maria Antoinette, 
completely duped the cardinal. His anxiety 
was such to be restored to the royal favor, that 
he eagerly caught at the bait which the wily 
countess presented to him. But, whoever may 
have been the guilty ones, no one now doubts 
that Maria Antoinette was entirely innocent. 
She, however, experienced all the ignominy 
she could have encountered had sh^ beeu ja- 
volved in the deepest guilt. • 




CHAPTEK Y. 

THE MOB AT VEBSAILLES. 

The year 1789 opened upon France lower- 
ing with darkness and portentous storms. The 
events to which we have alluded in the preced- 
ing chapters, and various others of a similar 
nature, conspired to foment troubles between 
the French monarch and his subjects, which 
were steadily and irresistibly increasing. The 
great mass of the people, ignorant, degraded, 
and maddened by centuries of oppression, were 
rising, with delirious energy, to batter down a 
corrupt church and a despotic throne, and to 
overwhelm the guilty and the innocent alike 
in indiscriminate ruin. The storm had been 
gathering for ages, but those who had been 
mainly instrumental in raising it were now 
slumbering in their graves. Mobs began to 
sweep the streets of Paris, frenzied with rum 
and rage, and all law was set at defiance. The 
king, mild in temperament, and with no force 
of character, was extremely averse to any 
measures o£ violence. The queen, far more 
fc^fVf 99 



100 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

energetic, with the spirit of her heroic mother, 
would have quelled these insurrections with 
the strong arm of military power. 

The king at last was compelled, in order to 
protect the royal family from insult, to encamp 
his army around his palaces; and long trains 
of artillery and of cavalry incessantly traversed 
the streets of Versailles, to prop the tottering 
monarchy. As Maria Antoinette, from the 
windows, looked down upon these formidable 
bands, and saw the crowd of generals and col- 
onels who filled the salons of the palace, her 
fainting courage was revived. The sight of 
these soldiers, called to quell the insurgent 
people, roused the Parisians to the intensest 
fury. *'Toarms! to arms! the king's troops 
are coming to massacre us, " resounded through 
the streets of Paris in the gloom of night, in 
tones which caused the heart of every peaceful 
citizen to quake with terror. The infuriated 
populace hurled themselves upon the few 
troops who were in Paris. Many of the sol- 
diers of the king threw down their arms and 
fraternized with the people. Others were 
withdrawn, by order of Louis, to add to the 
forces which were surrounding his person at 
Versailles. Paris was thus left at the mercy 
of the mob. The arsenals were ransacked, the 
powder magazines were broken open, pikes 
were forged, and in a day, as it were, all Paris 
was in arms. Thousands of the noble and the 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 101 

wealthy fled in consternation from these scenes 
of ever-accumulating peril, and bands of fero- 
cious men and women, from all the abodes of 
infamy, with the aspect and the energy of 
demons, ravaged the streets. 

When the morning of the 14th of March, 
1789, dawned upon the city, a scene of terror 
and confusion was witnessed which baffles all 
description. In the heart of Paris there was 
a prison of terrible celebrity, in whose dark 
dungeons many victims of oppression and 
crime had perished. The Bastile, in its 
gloomy strength of rock and iron, was the 
great instrument of terror with which the kings 
of France had, for centuries, held all restless 
spirits in subjection. Now, the whole popu- 
lation of Paris seemed to be rolling like an 
inundation toward this apparently impreg- 
nable fortress, resolved to batter down its exe- 
crated walls. **To the Bastile! to the Bas- 
tile!" was the cry which resounded along the 
banks of the Seine, and through every street 
of the insurgent metropolis ; and men, women, 
and boys poured on and poured on, an inter- 
minable host, choking every avenue with the 
agitated mass, armed with guns, knives, 
swords, pikes — dragging artillery bestrode by 
amazons, and filling the air with the clamor of 
Pandemonium. A conflict, fierce, short, bloody, 
ensued, and the exasperated multitude, many 
of them bleeding and maddened by wounds. 



102 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

clambered over the walls and rushed through 
the shattered gateways, and, with yells of 
triumph, became masters of the Bastile. The 
heads of its defenders were stuck upon poles 
upon the battlements, and the mob, intoxicated 
with the discovery of their resistless power, 
were beginning to inquire in what scenes of 
violence they should next engage. At mid- 
night, couriers arrived at Versailles, informing 
the king and queen of the terrible insurrections 
triumphant in the capital, and that the royal 
troops everywhere, instead of being enthusias- 
tic for the defense of the king, manifested the 
strongest disposition to fraternize with the 
populace. The tumult in Paris that night was 
awful. The rumor had entered every ear that 
the king was coming with forty thousand 
troops to take dreadful vengeance in the indis- 
criminate massacre of the populace. It was a 
night of sleeplessness and terror — the carnival 
of all the monsters of crime who thronged that 
depraved metropolis. The streets were filled 
with intoxication and blasphemy. No dwell- 
ing was secure from pillage. The streets were 
barricaded, pavements torn up, and the roofs 
of houses loaded with the stones. 

All the energies of the queen were aroused 
for a vigorous and heroic resistance. She 
strove to inspire the king with firmness and 
courage. He, however, thought only of con- 
cessions. He wished to win back the love of 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 103 

his people by favors. He declared openly that 
never should one drop of blood be shed at his 
command ; and, with the heroism of endur- 
ance, which he abundantly possessed, and to 
prove that he had been grossly calumniated, he 
left Versailles in his carriage to go unprotected 
to Paris, into the midst of the infuriated pop- 
ulace. Just as he was entering his carriage on 
this dangerous expedition, he received intelli- 
gence that a plot was formed to assassinate him 
on the way. This, however, did not in the 
slightest degree shake his resolution. The 
agony of the queen was irrepressible as she 
bade him adieu, never expecting to see him 
again. 

The National Assembly, consisting of nearly 
twelve hundred persons, was then in session at 
Versailles, the great majority of them sym- 
pathizing with the populace, and yet were 
alarmed in view of the lawless violence which 
their own acts had awakened, and which was 
everywhere desolating the land. As, on the 
morning of the 17th of July, the king entered 
his carriage with a slender retinue, and with 
no military protection, to expose himself to 
the dangers of his tumultuous capital, this 
whole body formed in procession on foot and 
followeVi- him. A countless throng of artisans 
and peasants flocked from all the streets of 
Versailles, and poured in from the surround- 
ing country, armed with scythes and blud- 



104 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

geons, and joined the strange cavalcade. 
Every moment the multitude increased, and 
the road, both before and behind the king, was 
so clogged with ihe accumulating mass, that 
seven hours passed before the king arrived at 
the gates of the city. During all this time he 
was exposed to every conceivable insult. As 
Louis was conducted to the Hotel de Ville, a 
hundred thousand armed men lined the way, 
and he passed along under the arch of their 
sabers crossed over his head. The cup of deg- 
radation he was compelled to drain to its 
dregs. 

While the king was absent from Versailles 
on this dreadful visit, silence and the deepest 
gloom pervaded the palace. The queen, ap- 
prehensive that the king would be either mas- 
sacred or retained a prisoner in Paris, was 
overwhelmed with the anguish of suspense. 
She retired to her chamber, and, with con- 
tinually gushing tears prepared an appeal to 
the National Assembly commencing with these 
words: ''Gentlemn I come to place in your 
hands the wife and family of your sovereign. 
Do not suffer those who have been united in 
heaven to be put asunder on earth." Late in 
the evening the king returned to the inexpres- 
sible joy of his household. But the narrative 
he gave of the day's adventure plunged them 
all again into the most profound grief. 

The visit of the king had no influence in 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 105 

diminishing tho horrors of the scenes now 
hourly enacted in the French capital. His 
friends were openly massacred in tho streets, 
hung up at the lampposts, and roasted at slow 
fires, while their dying agonies were but the 
subjects of derision. The contagion of crime 
and cruelty spread to every other city in the 
empire. The higher nobility and the more 
wealthy citizens began very generally to aban- 
don their homes, seeing no escape from these 
dangers but by x)recipitate flight to foreign 
lands. Such was the state of affairs, when the 
officers of some of the regiments assembled at 
Versailles for the i)rotection of the king had a 
public banquet in the salon of the opera. 
All the rank and elegance which had ventured 
yet to linger around the court graced tho feast 
with their presence in tho surrounding boxes. 
In the midst of their festivities their chival- 
rous enthusiasm was excited in behalf of the 
king and queen. They drank their health — 
they vowed to defend them even unto death. 
Wine had given fervor to their loyalty. The 
ladies showered upon them bouquets, waved 
their handkerchiefs, and tossed to them white 
cockades, tho emblem of Bourbon x^ower. And 
now the cry arose, loud, and long, and enthu- 
siastic, for the king and queen to come and 
show themselves to their defenders. The door 
suddenly opened, and the king and queen ap- 
peared. Enthusiasm injiiiodiatQly rose almost 



106 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

to frenzy. The hall resounded with accla- 
mations, and the king, entirely unmanned by 
these expressions of attachment, burst into 
tears. The band struck up the pathetic air, 
"O Kichard! O my king! the world abandons 
you." There was no longer any bounds to the 
transport. The officers and the ladies mingled 
together in a scene of indescribable enthusiasm. 
The tidings of this banquet spread like wild- 
fire through Paris, magnified by the grossest 
exaggerations. It was universally believed 
that the officers had contemptuously trampled 
the tricolored cockade, the adopted emblem of 
popular power, under their feet; that they had 
sharpened their sabers, and sworn to extermi- 
nate the National Assembly and the people of 
Paris. All business was at a stand. No 
laborer was employed. The provisions in the 
city were nearly all consumed. No baker 
dared to appear with his cart, or farmer to 
send in his corn, for pillage was the order of 
the day. The exasperated and starving people 
hung a few bakers before their own ovens, but 
that did not make bread any more plenty- 
The populace of Paris were now starving, liter- 
ally and truly starving. A gaunt and haggard 
woman seized a drum and strode through the 
streets, beating it violently, and mingling with 
its din her shrieks of ''Bread! bread!" A 
few boys follow her — then a score of female 
furiea — and then thousands of desperate n^ea, 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. lOl' 

The swelling inundation rolls from street to 
street; the alarm bells are rung; all Paris com- 
poses one mighty, resistless mob, motiveless, 
aimless, but ripe for any deed of desperation. 
The cry goes from mouth to mouth. "To Yer- 
sailles! to Versailles!" Why, no one knows, 
onl^^ that the king and queen are there. Im- 
petuously as by a blind instinct the monster 
mass moves on. La Fayette at the head of 
the National Guard knows not what to do, for 
all the troops under his command sympathize 
Avith the people and will obey no orders to re- 
sist them. He therefore merely follows on 
with his thirty-five thousand troops to watch 
the issue of events. The king and queen are 
warned of the approaching danger, and Louis 
entreats Maria Antoinette to take the children 
in the carriages and flee to some distant place 
of safety. Others join most earnestly in the 
entreaty. "Nothing," replies the queen, 
"shall induce me, in such an extremity, to be 
separated from my husband. I know that they 
seek my life. But I am the daughter of Maria 
Theresa, and have learned not to fear death." 
From the windows of their mansion the dis- 
orderly multitude were soon described, in a 
dense and apparently interminable mass, pour- 
ing along through the broad avenues toward 
the palaces of Versailles. It was in the even- 
ing twilight of a dark and rainy day. Like 
ocean tides, the frantic mob rolled in from 



108 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

every direction. Their shouts and revels 
swelled upon the night air. The rain began 
to fall in torrents. They broke into the 
houses for shelter; insulted maids and matrons; 
tore down everything combustible for their 
watch fires ; massacred a few of the bodyguard 
of the queen, and, with bacchanalian songs, 
roasted their horses for food. And thus 
passed the hours of this long and dreary night, 
in hideous outrages for which one can hardly 
find a parallel in the annals of New Zealand 
cannibalism. The immense gardens of Ver- 
sailles were filled with a tumultuous ocean of 
half-frantic men and women, tossed to and fro 
in the wildest and most reckless excitement. 

Toward morning, the queen, worn out with 
excitement and sleeplessness, having received 
from La Fayette the assurance that he had so 
posted the guard that she need be in no appre- 
hension of personal danger, had retired to her 
chamber for rest. The king had also retired 
to his apartment, which was connected with 
that of the queen by a hall, through which 
they could mutually pass. Two faithful sol- 
diers were stationed at the door of the queen's 
chamber for her defense. Hardly had the 
queen placed her head upon her pillow before 
she heard a dreadful clamor upon the stairs — 
the discharge of firearms, the clashing of 
swords, and the shouts of the mob rushing 
upon her door. The faithful guard, bleeding 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 109 

beneath the blows of the assailants, had only 
time to cry to the queen, *'Fly ! fly for your 
life!" when they were stricken down. The 
queen sprang from her bed, rushed to the door 
leading to the king's apartments, when, to her 
dismay, she found that it was locked, and that 
the key was upon the other side. With the 
energy of despair, she knocked and called for 
help. Fortunately, some one rushed to her 
rescue from the king's chamber and opened 
the door. The queen had just time to slip 
through and again turn the key, when the 
whole raging mob, with oaths and impreca- 
tions, burst into the room, and pierced her bed 
through and through with their sabers and 
bayonets. Happy would it have been for 
Maria if in that short agony she might have 
died. But she was reserved by a mysterious 
Providence for more prolonged tortures and 
for a more dreadful doom. 

A few of the National Guard, faithful to the 
king, rallied around the royal family, and La 
Fayette soon appeared, and was barely able to 
protect the king and queen from massacre. 
He had no power to effectually resist the tem- 
pest of human jjassion which was raging, but 
was swept along by its violence. Nearly all 
of the interior of the palace was ransacked and 
defiled by the mob. The bloody heads of the 
massacred guards, stuck upon pikes, were 
raised up to the windows of the king, to insult 

9 — Antoinette 



110 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

and to terrify the royal family with these 
hideous trophies of the triumph of their foes. 
At length the morning succeeding this dread- 
ful night dawned lurid and cheerless. It was 
the 8th of October, 1789. Dark clouds over- 
shadowed the sky, showers of mist were driven 
through the air, and the branches of the trees 
swayed to and fro before the driving storm. 
Pools of water filled the streets, and a count- 
less multitude of drunken vagabonds, in a mass 
so dense as to be almost impervious, besieged 
the palace, having no definite plan or desire, 
only furious with the thought that now was 
the hour in which they could wreak vengeance 
upon aristocrats for ages of oppression. 
Muskets were continually discharged by the 
more desperate, and bullets passed through the 
windows of the palace. Maria Antoinette, in 
these trying scenes, indeed appeared queenly. 
Her conduct was heroic in the extreme. Her 
soul was nerved to the very highest acts of 
fearlessness and magnanimity. Seeing the 
mob in the courtyard below ready to tear in 
pieces some of her faithful guard whom they 
had captured, regardless of the shots which 
were whistling by her, she persisted in expos- 
ing herself at the open window to beg for their 
lives; and when a friend, M. Luzerne, placed 
himself before her, that his body might be her 
shield from the bullets, she gently, but firmly, 
with her hand, pressed him away, saying: 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. Ill 

*'ThG king cannot afford to lose so faithful a 
servant as you are." 

At length the crowd began vigorously to 
shout: "The queen! the queen!" demanding 
that she should appear upon the balcony. 
She immediately came forth, with her children 
at her side, that, as a mother, she might ap- 
peal to their hearts. The sight moved the 
sympathies of the multitude; and execrating, 
as they did, Maria Antoinette, whom they had 
long been taught to hate, they could not have 
the heart, in cold blood, to massacre these in- 
nocent children. Thousands of voices simul- 
taneously shouted : "Away with the children !'* 
Maria, apparently without the tremor of a 
nerve, led back her children, and again appear- 
ing upon the balcony alone, folded her aims, 
and, raising her eyes to heaven, stood before 
them, a self-devoted victim. The heroism of 
the act changed for a moment hatred to admi- 
ration. Not a gun was fired; there was a 
moment of silence, and then one spontaneous 
burst of applause rose apparently from every 
lip, and shouts of "Vive la reine! vive la 
reine!" pierced the skies. 

And now the universal cry ascends: "To 
Paris! to Paris!" La Fayette, with the deep- 
est mortification, was compelled to inform the 
king that he had no force at his disposal suffi- 
cient to enable him to resist the demands of 
the mob. The king, seeing that he was en- 



il2 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

tirely at the mercy of his foes, who were acting 
without leaders and without plan, as the ca- 
price of each passing moment instigated, said: 
**You wish, my children, that I should accom- 
pany you to Paris. I cannot go but on condi- 
tion that I shall not be separated from my wife 
and family." To this proposal there was a 
tumultuous assent. At 1 o'clock, the king 
and queen, with their two children, entered 
the royal carriage to be escorted by the trium- 
phant mob as captives to Paris. Behind 
them, in a long train, followed the carriages 
of the king's suite and servants. Then fol- 
lowed twenty-five carriages filled with the 
members of the National Assembly. After 
them came the thirty-five thousand troops of 
the National Guard; and before, behind, and 
around them all, a hideous concourse of vaga- 
bonds, male and female, in uncounted thou- 
sands, armed with every conceivable weapon, 
yelling, blaspheming, and crowding against 
the carriages so that they surged to and fro 
like ships in a storm. This motley multitude 
kept up an incessant discharge of firearms 
loaded with bullets, and the balls often struck 
the ornaments of the carriages, and the king 
and queen were often almost suffocated with 
the smoke of powder. 

The two bodyguard, who had been massa- 
cred while so faithfully defending the queen at 
the door of her chamber, were beheaded, and, 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. ilo 

their gory heads affixed to pikes, were carried 
by the windows of the carriage, and pressed 
upon the view of the wretched captives with 
every species of insult and derision. La 
Fayette was powerless. He was borne along 
resistlessly by this whirlwind of human pas- 
sions. None were so malignant, so ferocious, 
so merciless, as the degraded women who 
mingled with the throng. They bestrode the 
cannon singing the most indecent and insulting 
songs. "We shall now have bread," they ex- 
claimed; "for we have with us the baker, and 
the baker's wife, and the baker's boy." Dur- 
ing seven long hours of agony were the royal 
family exposed to these insults, before the un- 
wieldly mass had urged its slow way to Paris. 
The darkness of night was settling down 
around the city as the royal captives were led 
into the Hotel de Yille. No one seemed then 
to know what to do, or why the king and queen 
had been brought from Versailles. The mayor 
of the city received them there with the exter- 
nal mockery of respect and homage. He had 
them then conducted to the Tuileries, the gor- 
geous city palace of the kings of France, now 
the prison of the royal family. Soldiers were 
stationed at all the avenues to the palace, 
ostensibly to preserve the royal family from 
danger, but, in reality, to guard them from 
escape. 

A moment before the queen entered her car- 



114 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

riage for this march of humiliation, she hastily 
retired to her private apartment, and, bursting 
into tears, surrendered herself to the most un- 
controllable emotion. Then immediately, as 
if relieved and strengthened by this flood of 
tears, she summoned all her energies, and ap- 
peared as she had ever appeared — the invincible 
sovereign. Indeed, through all these dreadful 
scenes she never seemed to have a thought for 
herself. It was for her husband and her chil- 
dren alone that she wept and suffered. Through 
all the long hours of the night succeeding this 
day of horror, Paris was one boiling caldron 
of tumult and passion. Eioting and violence 
filled all its streets, and the clamor of madness 
and inebriation drove sleep from every pillow. 
The excitement of the day had been too terrible 
to allow either the king or the queen to attempt 
repose. The two children, in utter exhaustion, 
found a few hours of agitated slumber from the 
terror with which they had so long been ap- 
palled. But in the morning, when the dau- 
phin awoke, being but six or eight years of 
age, hearing the report of musketry and the 
turmoil still resounding in the streets, he threw 
his arms around his mother's neck, and, as he 
clung trembling to her bosom, exclaimed: *'0h, 
mother! mother! is to-day yesterday again?" 
Soon after, his father came into the room. 
The little prince, to whom sorrow had given a 
maturity above his years, contemplated his 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 115 

father for a moment with a pensive air, went 
up to him and said: ''Dear father, why are 
your people, who formerly loved you so well, 
now, all of a sudden, so angry with you? And 
what have you done to irritate them so much?" 

The king thus replied: "I wished, my dear 
child, to render the people still happier than 
they were. I wanted money to pay the ex- 
penses occasioned by wars. I asked the parlia- 
ment for money, as my predecessors have 
always done. Magistrates composing the par- 
liament opposed it, and said that the people 
alone had a right to consent to it. I assembled 
the principal inhabitants of every town, 
whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or 
talents, at Versailles. That is what is called 
the States- General, When they were assem- 
bled, they required concessions of me which I 
could not make, either with due respect for 
myself or with justice to you, who will be my 
successor. "Wicked men, inducing the people 
to rise, have occasioned the excesses of the 
last few days. The ^eqp^e must not be blamed 
for them." 

While these terrific scenes were passing in 
Paris and in France, the majority of the 
nobility were rapidly emigrating to find refuge 
in other lands. Every night the horizon was 
illumined by the conflagration of their chateaus 
burned down by mobs. Many of them were 
mercilessly tortured to death. Large numbers, 



116 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

however, gathering around them such treasures 
as could easily be carried away, escaped to 
Germany on the frontiers of France. Some 
fifteen hundred of these emigrants were at 
Coblentz, organizing themselves into a military 
band, seeking assistance from the Austrian 
monarchy, and threatening, with an over- 
whelming force of invasion, to recover their 
homes and their confiscated estates, and to 
rescue the royal family. The populace in 
Paris were continually agitated with the rumors 
of this gathering army at Goblentz. As Maria 
was an Austrian, she was accused of being in 
correspondence with the emigrants, and of 
striving to rouse the Austrian monarchy to 
make war upon France, and to deluge Paris 
with the blood of its citizens. Most inflamma- 
tory placards were posted in the streets. 
Speeches full of rancor and falsehood were 
made to exasperate the populace. And when 
the fishwomen wished to cast upon the queen 
some epithet of peculiar bitterness, they called 
her *' The Austrian." 

It is confidently asserted that the mob was 
instigated to the march to Versailles by the 
emissaries of the Duke of Orleans, the father 
of Louis Philippe. The duke hoped that the 
royal family, terrified by the approach of the 
infuriated multitude, would enter their car- 
riages and flee to join the emigrants at Cob- 
lentz. The throne would then be vacant, and 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. lit 

the people woul^ make tbe Duke of Orleans, 
who, to secure this result, had become one of 
the most violent of the Democrats, their king. 
It was a deeply-laid plot and a very plausible 
enterprise. 

But the king understood the plan, and re- 
fused thus to be driven from the throne of his 
fathers. He, however, entreated the queen to 
take the children and escape. She resolutely 
declared that no peril should induce her to for- 
sake her husband, but that she would live or 
die by his side. During all the horrors of 
that dreadful night, when the palace at Ver- 
sailles was sacked, the duke, in disguise, with 
his adherents, was endeavoring to direct the 
fury of the storm for the accomplishment of 
this purpose. But his plans were entirely 
frustrated. The caprice seized the mob to 
carry the king to Paris. This the Duke of 
Orleans of all things dreaded ; but matters had 
now passed entirely beyond his control. 
Rumors of the approaching invasion were fill- 
ing the kingdom with alarm. There was a 
large minority, consisting of the most intelli- 
gent and wealthy, who were in favor of the 
king, and who would eagerly join an army 
coming for his rescue. Should the king escape 
and head that army, it would give the invaders 
a vast accession of moral strength, and the in- 
surgent people feared a dreadful vengeance. 
Consequently, there were great apprehensions 



118 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

entertained that the king migjit escape. The 
leaders of the populace were not yet prepared 
to plunge him into prison or to load him with 
chains. In fact, they had no definite plan be- 
fore them. He was still their recognized 
king. They even pretended that he was not 
their captive — that they iiad politely, affection- 
ately invited him, escorted hini on a visit to 
his capital. They entreated the king and 
queen to show that they had no desire to 
escape, but were contented and happy, by en- 
tering into all the amusements of operas, and 
theaters, and balls. But in the meantime 
they doubled the guards around them, and 
drove away their faithful servants, to place 
others at their tables and in their chambers 
who should be their s]3ies. 

But two days after these horrid outrages, in 
the midst of which the king and queen were 
dragged as captives to Paris, the city sent a 
deputation to request the queen to appear at 
the theater, and thus to prove, by participating 
in those gay festivities, that it was with pleas- 
ure that she resided in her capital. With 
much dignity the queen replied : " I should, 
with great pleasure, accede to the invitation of 
the people of Paris ; but time must be allowed 
me to soften the recollection of the distressing 
events which have recently occurred, and from 
which I have suffered so severely. Having 
come to Paris preceded by the heads of my 



THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 119 

faithful guards, who perished before the door 
of their sovereign, I cannot think that such an 
entry into the capital ought to be followed by 
rejoicings. But the happiness I have always 
felt in appearing in the midst of the inhabi- 
tants of Paris is not effaced from my memory ; 
and I hope to enjoy that happiness again, so 
soon as I shall find myself able to do so." 

The queen was, however, increasingly the 
object of especial obloquy. She was accused 
of urging the king to bombard the city, and to 
adopt other most vigorous measures of resist- 
ance. It was affirmed that she held continual 
correspondence with the emigrants at Coblentz, 
and was doing all in her power to rouse Austria 
to come to the rescue of the king. Maria 
would have been less than the noble woman she 
was if she had not done all this, and more, for 
the protection of her husband, her child, and 
herself. She inherited her mother's superior- 
ity of mind and mental energy. Had Louis 
possessed her spirit he might have perished 
more heroically, but probably none the less 
surely, Maria did, unquestionably, do every- 
thing in her power to rouse her husband to a 
more energetic and manly defense. Genera- 
tions of kings, by licentiousness, luxury, and 
oppression ; by total disregard of the rights of 
the people, and by the haughty contempt of 
their sufferings and complaints, had kindled 
flames of implacable hatred against ail kingly 



120 ' MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

power. Circumstances, over which neither 
Louis nor Maria had any control, caused these 
flames to burst out with resistless fury around 
the throne of France, at the time in which 
they happened to be seated upon it. Though 
there never had been seated upon that throne 
more upright, benevolent, and conscientious 
monarchs, they were compelled to drain to the 
dregs the poisoned chalice which their ances- 
tors had mingled. Perhaps this world pre- 
sents no more affecting illustration of that mys- 
terious principle of the divine government, by 
which the transgressions of the parents are 
visited upon the children. Louis XIY., as 
haughty and oppressive a monarch as ever trod 
an enslaved people into the dust, died peace- 
fully in his luxurious bed. His descendant, 
Louis XYL, as mild and benignant a sovereign 
as ever sat upon an earthly throne, received 
upon his unresisting brow the doom from 
which his unprincipled ancestors had escaped. 
It is difficult for us, in the sympathy which is 
excited for the comparatively innocent Maria 
Antoinette and Louis, to remember the ages of 
wrong and outrage by which the popular exas- 
' peration had been raised to wreak itself in in- 
discriminating atrocities. There is but one 
solution to these mysteries: ** After death 
comes the judgment." 




CHAPTEE VI. 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 

The king and queen now found themselves 
in the gorgeous apartments of the Tuileries, 
surrounded with all the mockery of external 
homage, but incessantly exposed to^ the most 
ignominious insults, and guarded with sleep- 
less vigilance from the possibility of escape. 
The name of the queen was the watchword of 
popular execration and rage. In the pride of 
her lofty spirit, she spurned all apologies, ex- 
planations, or attempts at conciliation. In- 
closing herself in the recesses of her palace, 
she heard with terror and resentment, but with 
an unyielding soul, the daily acts of violence 
perpetrated against royalty and all of its 
friends. All her trusty servants were removed, 
and spies in their stead occupied her parlors 
and her chambers. Trembling far more for 
her husband and her children than for herself, 
every noise in the streets aroused her appre- 
hensions of a new insurrection. And thus, for 
nearly two years of melancholy days and sor- 
rowful nights, the very nobleness of her nature, 

glowing with heroic love, magnified her an- 
" 121 



122 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

gtiish. The terror of the times had driven 
nearly all the nobility from the realm. The 
court was forsaken, or attended only by the 
detested few who were forced as ministers 
upon the royal family by the implacable popu- 
lace. Every word and every action of Maria 
Antoinette were watched, and reported by the 
spies who surrounded her in the guise of serv- 
ants. To obtain a private interview with any 
of her few remaining friends, or even with her 
husband, it was necessary to avail herself of 
private staircases, and dark corridors, and the 
disguise of night. The queen regretted ex- 
tremely that the nobles, and others friendly to 
royalty, should, in these hours of gathering 
danger, have fled from France. When urged 
to fly herself from the dangers darkening 
around her, she resolutely refused, declaring 
that she would never leave her husband and 
children, but that she would live or die with 
them. The queen, convinced of the impolicy 
of emigration, did everything in her power to 
induce the emigrants to return. Urgent letters 
wore sent to them, to one of which the queen 
added the following postcript with her own 
hand: "If you love your king, your religion, 
your government, and your country, return! 
return ! return ! Maria Antoinette. " The emi- 
grants were severely censured by many for 
abandoning their king and country in such a 
crisis. But when all law was overthrown, and 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 1 23 

the raging mob swayed hither and thither at 
its will, and nobles were murdered on the high- 
way or hung at lamp posts in the street, and 
each night the horizon was illumined by the 
conflagation of their chateaus, a husband and 
father can hardly be severely censured for en- 
deavoring to escape with his wife and children 
from such scenes of horror. 

A year of gloom now slowly passed away, 
almost every moment of which was imbittered 
by disappointed hopes and gathering fears. 
The emigrants, who were assembled at Cob- 
lentz, on the frontiers of Germany, were organ- 
izing an army for the invasion of France and 
the restoration of the regal power. The 
people were very fearful that the king and 
queen might escape, and, joining the emigrants, 
add immeasurably to their moral strength. 
There were thousands in France, overawed by 
the terrors of the mob, who would most 
eagerly have rallied around the banners of such 
an invading army, headed by their own king. 
Louis, however, with his characteristic want of 
energy, was very unwilling to assume a hostile 
attitude toward his subjects, and still vainly 
hoped, by concessions and by the exhibition 
of a forgiving spirit, to reconcile his disaffected 
people. 

On the morning after the arrival of the king 
and queen at the Tuileries, an occurrence took 
place highly characteristic of the times. A 

10 — Antoinette 



124 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

crowd of profligate women, the same who be- 
strode the cannon the day before, insulting the 
queen with the most abusive language, col- 
lected under the queen's windows, upon the 
terrace of the palace. Maria, hearing their 
outcries, came to the window. A furious ter- 
magant addressed her, telling her that she 
must dismiss all such courtiers as ruin kings, 
and that she must love the inhabitants of her 
good city. The queen replied : 

*'I have loved them at Versailles, and will 
also love them at Paris.'* 

*'Tes! yes!" answered another. *'Butyou 
wanted to besiege the city and have it bom- 
barded. And you wanted to fly to the fron- 
tiers and join the emigrants." 

The queen mildly replied: *'You have been 
told so, my friends, and have believed it, and 
that is the cause of the unhappiness of the 
people and of the best of kings." 

Another addressed her in German, to which 
the queen answered: *'I do not understand 
you. I have become so entirely French as 
even to have forgotten my mother tongue." 

At this they all clapped their hands, and 
shouted: '* Bravo! bravo!" They then asked 
for the ribbons and flowers out of her hat. 
Her majesty unfastened them herself, and then 
tossed the-iQ out of the window to the women. 
They were received with great eagerness, and 
divided among the party ; and for half an hour 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 125 

ihey kept up the incessant shout: ** Maria 
Antoinette forever ! Our good queen forever ! ' ' 

In the course of a few weeks some of the de- 
voted friends of the queen had matured a plan 
by which her escape could be, without difficulty, 
effected. The queen, whose penetrating mind 
fully comprehended the peril of her situation, 
replied, while expressing the deepest gratitude 
to her friends for their kindness : **I will never 
leave either the king or my children. If I 
thought that I alone were obnoxious to public 
hatred, I 'would instantly offer my life as a 
sacrilice. But it is the throne which is aimed 
at. In abandoning the king, no other advan- 
tage can be obtained than merely saving my 
life; and I will never be guilty of such an act 
of cowardice. ' ' 

The following letter, which she wrote at this 
time to a friend, in reply to a letter of sym- 
pathy in reference to the outrage which had 
torn her from Versailles, will enable one to 
form a judgment of her situation and state of 
mind at that time. "I shed tears of affection 
on reading your sympathizing letter. You 
talk of my courage ; it required much less to 
go through the dreadful crisis of that day than 
is now daily necessary to endure our situa- 
tion, our own griefs, those of our friends, and 
those of the persons who surround us. This 
is a heavy weight to sustain and but for the 
strong ties by which my heart is bound to my 



126 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

husband, ray children, and my friends, I 
should wish to sink under it. But you bear 
me up. I ought to sacrifice such feelings to 
your friendship. But it is I who bring mis- 
fortune on you all, and all your troubles are 
on my account." 

The queen now lived for some time in much 
retirement. She employed the mornings in 
superintending the education of her son and 
daughter, both of whom received all their les- 
sons in her presence, and she endeavored to 
occupy her mind, continually agitated as it 
was by ever-recurring scenes of outrage and of 
danger, by working large pieces of tapestry. 
She could not sufficiently recall her thoughts 
from the anxieties which continually engrossed 
them to engage in reading. The king was 
extremely unwilling to seek protection in 
flight, lest the throne should be declared 
vacant, and he should thus lose his crown. 
He was ever hoping that affairs would take 
such a turn that harmony would be restored to 
his distracted kingdom. Maria Antoinette, 
however, who had a much more clear discern- 
ment of the true state of affairs, soon felt con- 
vinced that reconciliation, unless effected by 
the arm of power, was hopeless, and she ex- 
erted all her influence to rouse the king to vig- 
orous measures for escape. While firmly re- 
solved never to abandon her husband and her 
family to save her own life, she still became 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 127 

very anxious that all should endeavor to escape 
together. 

About this time the Marquis of Favras was 
accused of having formed a plan for the rescue 
of the royal family. He was very hastily 
tried, the mob surrounding the tribunal and 
threatening the judges with instant death un- 
less they should condemn him. He was sen- 
tenced to be hung, and was executed, sur- 
rounded by the insults and execrations of the 
populace of Paris. The marquis left a wife 
and a little boy overwhelmed with grief and in 
hopeless poverty. On the following Sunday 
morning, some extremely injudicious friends 
of the queen, moved with sympathy for the 
desolated family, without consulting the queen 
upon the subject, presented the widow and the 
orphan in deepest mourning at court. The 
husband and father had fallen a sacrifice to his 
love for the queen and her family. The queen 
was extremely embarrassed. What course 
could she with safety pursue? If she should 
yield to the dictates of her own heart, and give 
expression to her emotions of sympathy and 
gratitude, she would rouse to still greater fury 
the indignation of the populace who were 
accusing her of the desire to escape, and who 
considered this desire as one of the greatest of 
crimes. Should she, on the other hand, sur- 
render herself to the dictates of prudence, and 
aeglect openly to manifest any special interest 



128 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

in their behalf, how severely must she be cen- 
sured by the Loyalists for her ingratitude to- 
ward those who had been irretrievably ruined 
through their love for her. 

The queen was extremely pained by this un- 
expected and impolitic presentation; for the 
fate of others, far dearer to her than her own 
life, were involved in her conduct. She with- 
drew from the painful scene to her private 
apartment, threw herself into a chair, and, 
weeping bitterly, said to an intimate friend : 
*'We must perish! We are assailed by men 
who possess extraordinary talent, and who 
shrink from no crime. We are defended by 
those who have the kindest intention, but who 
have no adequate idea of our situation. They 
have exposed me to the animosity of both 
parties by presenting to me the widow and the 
son of the Marquis of Favras. Were I free to 
act as my heart impels me, I should take the 
child of the man who has so nobly sacrificed 
himself for us, and adopt him as my own, and 
place him at the table between the king and 
myself. But, surrounded by the assassins 
who have destroyed his father, I did not dare 
even to cast my eyes upon him. The Eoyal- 
ists will blame me for not having appeared in- 
terested in this poor child. The Eevolutionists 
will be enraged at the idea that his presenta- 
tion should have been thought agreeable to 
me. ' ' The nest day the queen sent, by a con- 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 1^9 

fidential friend, a purse of gold to Madame 
Favras, and assured her that she would ever 
watch, with the deepest interest, over her for- 
tune and that of her son. 

Innumerable plans were now formed for the 
rescue of the royal family, and abandoned. 
The king could not be roused to energetic 
action. His passive courage was indomitable, 
but he could not be induced to act on the 
offensive, and, still hoping that by a spirit of 
conciliation he might win back the affections of 
his people, he was extremely reluctant to take 
any measures by which he should be arrayed 
in hostility against them. Maria, on the con- 
trary, knew that decisive action alone could be 
of any avail. One night, about 10 o'clock, 
the king and queen were sitting in their private 
apartment of the Tuileries, endeavoring to be- 
guile the melancholy hours by a game of cards. 
The sister of the king, Madame Elizabeth, 
with a very pensive countenance, was kneeling 
upon a stool, by the side of the table, over- 
looking the game. A nobleman. Count d'lnis- 
dal, devotedly attached to the fortunes of the 
royal family, entered, and, in a low tone of 
voice, informed the king and queen that a plan 
was already matured to rescue them that very 
night ; that a section of the National Guard 
was gained over, that sets of fleet horses were 
placed in relays at suitable distances, that car- 
riages were ready, and that now they only 



130 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

wanted the king's consent, and the scheme, at 
midnight, would be carried into execution. 
The king listened to every word without the 
movement of a muscle of his countenance, and, 
fixing his eyes upon the cards in his hand, as 
if paying no attention to what had been said, 
uttered not a syllable. For some time there 
was perfect silence. At last Maria Antoinette, 
who was extremely anxious- that the king 
should avail himself of this opportunity for 
escape, broke the embarrassing silence by say- 
ing: **Do you hear, sir, what is said to us?" 
''Yes," replied the king, calmly, ''I hear," 
and he continued his game. Again there was 
a long silence. The queen, extremely anxious 
and impatient, for the hour of midnight was 
drawing near, again interrupted the silence 
by saying earnestly: ''But, sir, some reply 
must be made to this communication." The 
king paused for a momeot, and then, still look- 
ing upon the cards in his hand, said: "TAe 
king cannot consent to he carried off.'' Maria 
Antoinette was greatly disappointed at the 
want of decision and of magnanimity implied 
in this answer. She, however, said to the 
nobleman very eagerly : "Be careful and report 
this answer correctly, the king cannot consent 
to be carried off." The king's answer was 
doubtless intended as a tacit consent, while he 
wished to avoid the responsibility of partici- 
pating in the design. The count, however. 



THE t^ALACEl A PRISON. 131 

was greatly displeased at this answer, and 
said to his associates: "I understand it per- 
fectly. He is willing that we should seize 
and carry him, as if by violence, but wishes, 
in case of failure, to throw all the blame upon 
those who are periling their lives to save 
him." The queen hoped earnestly that the 
enterprise would not be abandoned, and sat up 
till after midnight preparing her cases of valua- 
bles, and anxiously watching for the coming of 
their deliverers. But the hours lingered 
away, and the morning dawned, and the 
palace was still their prison. The queen, 
shortly after, remarking upon this indecision 
of the king, said: ^*We must seek safety in 
flight. Our peril increases every day. No 
one can tell to what extremities these disturb- 
ances will lead. ' ' 

La Fayette had informed the king, that, 
should he see any alarming movement among 
the disaffected, threatening the exposure of 
the royal family to new acts of violence, he 
would give them an intimation of their danger 
by the discharge of a few cannon from the 
battery upon the Pont Neuf. One night the 
report of guns from some casual discharge was 
heard, and the king, regarding it as the warn- 
ing, in great alarm flew to the apartments of 
the queen. She was not there. He passed 
hastily from room to room, and at last found 
her in the chamber of the dauphin, with her 



13^ MARIA ANtOtNETTEi 

two children in her arms. ''Madame, " said 
the king to her, "I have been seeking you. I 
was very anxious about you." 

''You find me," replied the queen, pointing 
to her children, "at my station." 

Several unavailing attempts were made at 
this time to assassinate the queen. These dis- 
coveries, however, seemed to cause Maria no 
alarm, and she could not be induced to adopt 
any precautions for her personal safety. 
Earely did a day pass in which she did not 
encounter, in some form, ignominy or insult. 
As the heat of summer came on, the royal 
family removed to the palace of St. Cloud 
without any opposition, though the National 
Guard followed them, professedly for their 
protection, but, in reality, to guard against 
their escape. Here another plan was formed 
for flight. The different members of the royal 
family, in disguise, were to meet in a wood 
four leagues from St. Cloud. Some friends 
of the royal family, who could be perfectly re- 
lied upon, were there to join them. A large 
carriage was to be in attendance, sufficient to 
conduct the whole family. The attendants at 
the palace would have no suspicion of their 
escape until 9 o'clock in the evening, as the 
royal carriages were frequently out until that 
hour, and it would then take some time to 
send to Paris to call together the National 
Assembly at midnight, and to send couriers to 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 133 

overtake the fugitives. Thus, with fleet 
horses and fresh relays, and having six or 
seven hours the start, the king and queen 
might hope to escape apprehension. The 
queen very highly approved of this plan, and 
v^^as very anxious to have it carried into execu- 
tion. But, for some unknown reason, the at- 
tempt was relinquished. 

There were occasional exhibitions of strong 
individual attachment for the king and queen, 
which would, for a moment, create the illusion 
that a reaction had commenced in the public 
mind. One day the queen was sitting in her 
apartment at St. Cloud, in the deepest dejec- 
tion of spirits, mechanically working upon 
some tapestry to occupy the joyless and linger- 
ing hours. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. 
The palace was deserted and silent. The very 
earth and sky seemed mourning in sympathy 
with the mourning queen. Suddenly, an un- 
usual noise, as of many persons conversing in 
an undertone, was heard beneath the window. 
The queen immediately rose and went to the 
window ; for every unaccustomed sound was, 
in such perilous times, an occasion of alarm. 
Below the balcony, she saw a group of some 
fifty persons, men and women, from the coun- 
try, apparently anxious to catch a glimpse of 
her. They were evidently humble people, 
dressed in the costume of peasants. As soon 
as they saw the queen, they gave utterance to 



134 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the most passionate expressions of attachment 
and devotion. The queen, who had long been 
accustomed only to looks and words of defiance 
and insult, was entirely overpowered by these 
kind words, and could not refrain from burst- 
ing into tears. The sight of the weeping 
queen redoubled the affectionate emotions of 
the loyal group, and, with the utmost enthus- 
iasm, they reiterated their assurances of love 
and their prayers for her safety. A lady of 
the queen's household, apprehensive that the 
scene might arrest the attention of the numer- 
ous spies who surrounded them, led her from 
the window. The affectionate group, appre- 
ciating the prudence of the measure, with 
tears of sympathy expressed their assent, and 
with prayers, tears, and benedictions, retired. 
Maria was deeply touched by these unwonted 
tones of kindness, and, throwing herself into 
her chair, sobbed with uncontrollable emotion. 
It was long before she could regain her ac- 
customed composure. 

Many unsuccessful attempts were made at 
this time to assassinate the queen. A wretch 
by the name of Kotondo succeeded one day in 
scaling the walls of the garden, and hid him- 
self in the shrubberj^ intending to stab the 
queen as she passed in her usual solitary 
promenade. A shower prevented the queen 
from going into the garden, and thus her life 
was saved. And yet, though the assassin was 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 135 

discovered and arrested, the hostility of the 
public toward the royal family was such that he 
was shielded from punishment. 

The king and queen occasionally h eld priv- 
ate interviews at midnight, with chosen 
friends, secretly introduced to the palace, in 
the apartment of the queen. And there, in 
low tones of voice, and fearful of detection by 
the numerous spies which infested the palace, 
they would deliberate upon their peril, and 
upon the innumerable plans suggested for their 
extrication. Some recommended the resort to 
violence ; that the king should gather around 
him as many of his faithful subjects as possi- 
ble, and settle the difficulties by an immediate 
appeal to arms. Others urged further com- 
promise, and the spirit of conciliation, hoping 
that the king might thus regain his lost popu- 
larity, and re-establish his tottering throne. 
Others urged, and Maria coincided most cor- 
dially in this opinion, that it was necessary 
for the royal family to escape from Paris im- 
mediately, which was the focus of disaffection, 
and at a safe distance, surrounded by their 
armed friends, to treat with their enemies and 
to compel them to reasonable terms. The in- 
decision of the king, however, appeared to be 
an insuperable obstacle in the way of any de- 
cisive action. 

One day a delegation appeared before the 
royal family from the Conquerors of the Bas- 



136 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

tile, with a new year's gift for the young dau- 
phin. The present consisted of a box of domi- 
noes curiously wrought from the stone of which 
that celebrated state prison was built. It was 
an ingenious plan to insult the royal family 
under the pretense of respect and affection, for 
on the lid of the box there was engraved the fol- 
lowing sentiment : ' * These stones, from the 
walls which inclosed the innocent victims of arbi- 
trary power, have been converted into a toy, to be 
presented to you, monseigneur, as an homage of the 
people' s love, and to teach you the extent of their 
power. ' ' 

About this time, the two aunts of the king 
left France, ostensibly for the purpose of 
traveling, but, in reality, as an experiment, to 
see what opposition would be made to prevent 
members of the royal family from leaving the 
kingdom. As soon as their intention was 
known, it excited the greatest popular ferment. 
A vast crowd of men and women assembled at 
the palace, to prevent, if possible, with law- 
less violence, their departure. It was merely 
two elderly ladies who wished to leave France, 
but the excitement pervaded even the army, 
and many of the soldiers joined the mob in the 
determination that they should not be per- 
mitted to depart. The traces of the carriages 
were cut, and the oflQcers, who tried to protect 
the princesses, were nearly murdered. The 
whole nation was agitated by the attempts of 




Maria A it int,li 



The Princess Lamballe Bstore the Tribunal. {See p. 202. ) 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 137 

these two peaceful ladies to visit Eome. 
When at some distance from Paris, they were 
arrested, and the report of their arrest was sent 
to the National Assembly. The king found 
the excitement so great, that he wrote a letter 
to the Assembly, informing them that his 
aunts wished to leave France to visit other 
countries, and that, though he witnessed their 
separation from him and his family with much 
regret, he did not feel that he had any right to 
deprive them of the privilege which the hum- 
blest citizens enjoyed, of going whenever and 
wherever they pleased. The question of their 
detention was for a long time debated in the 
Assembly. '*What right," said one, **have 
we to prohibit these ladies from traveling.'* 

*' We have a law, " another indignantly re- 
plied, "paramount to all others — the law 
which commands us to take care of the public 
safety." The debate was finally terminated 
by the caustic remark of a member who 
was ashamed of the protracted discussion. 
"Europe," said he, "will be greatly aston- 
ished, no doubt, on hearing that the National 
Assembly spent four hours in deliberating upon 
the departure of two ladies who preferred hear- 
ing mass at Eome rather than at Paris." The 
debate was thus terminated, and the ladies 
were permitted to depart. 

Early in the spring of 1791, the king and 
queen, who had been passing some time in 

11 — Antoinetts 



138 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Paris at the Tuileries, wished to return to their 
country seat at St. Cloud. Many members of 
the household had already gone there, and din- 
ner was prepared for the royal family at the 
palace for their reception. The carriages 
were at the door, a^nd, as the king and queen 
were descending, a great tumult in the yard 
arrested their attention. They found that the 
guard, fearful that they might escape, had 
mutinied, and closed the door of the palace, 
declaring that they would not let them pass. 
Some of the personal friends of the king inter- 
posed in favor of the insulted captives, and en- 
deavored to secure for them more respectful 
treatment. They were, however, seized by the 
infuriated soldiers, and narrowly escaped with 
their lives. The king and queen returned in 
humiliation to their apartments, feeling that 
their palace was indeed a prison. They, how- 
ever, secretly did not regret the occurrence, as 
it made more public the indignities to which 
they were exposed, and would aid in justifying 
before the community any attempts they might 
hereafter make to escape. 

The king had at length become thoroughly 
aroused to a sense of the desperate position of 
his affairs. But the royal family was watched 
so narrowly that it was now extremely difficult 
to make any preparations for departure ; and 
the king and queen, both having been brought 
up surrounded by the luxuries and restraints 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 13§ 

of a palace, knew so little of the world, and 
yet were so accustomed to have their own way, 
that they were entirely incapable of forming 
any judicious plan for themselves, and, at the 
same time, they were quite unwilling to adopt 
the views of their more intelligent friends. 
They began, however, notwithstanding the most 
earnest remonstrances, to make preparations 
for flight by providing themselves with Qvery 
conceivable comfort for their exile. In vain 
did their friends assure them that they could 
purchase anything they desired in any part of 
Europe; that such quantities of luggage 
would be only an incumbrance ; that it was 
dangerous, under the eyes of their vigilant 
enemies, to be making such extensive prepara- 
tions. Neither the king nor queen would heed 
such monitions. The queen persisted in her 
resolution to send to Brussels, piece by piece, 
all the articles of a complete and extensive 
wardrobe for herself and her children, to be 
ready for them there upon their arrival. Ma- 
dame Campan, the intimate friend and com- 
panion of the queen, was extremely uneasy in 
view of this imprudence; but, as she could not 
dissuade the queen, she went out again and 
again, in the evening and in disguise, to pur- 
chase the necessary articles and have them 
made up. She adopted the precaution of pur- 
chasing but few articles at any one shop, and 
of employing various seamstresses, lest sus- 



140 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

picion should be excited. She had the gar- 
ments made for the daughter of the queen, cut 
by the measure of another young lady who 
exactly resembled her in size. Gradually they 
thus filled one large trunk with clothing, which 
was sent to the dwelling of a lady, one of the 
friends of the queen, who was to convey it to 
Brussels. 

The queen had a very magnificent dressing- 
case, which cost twelve hundred dollars. This 
she also determined that she could not leave 
behind. It could not be taken from the palace, 
and sent away out of the country, without at- 
tracting attention, and leading at once to the 
conviction that the queen was to follow it. The 
queen, in her innocent simplicity of mankind, 
thought that the people could be blinded like 
children, by telling them that she intended to 
send it as a present to the Archduchess Chris- 
tina. However, by the most earnest remon- 
strances of her friends, she was induced only 
so far to change her plan as to consent that the 
charge d'affaires from Vienna should ask her 
at her toilet, and in the presence of all around 
her, to have just such a dressing-case made for 
the archduchess. This plan was carried into 
execution, and the dressing-case was thus 
publicly made ; but, as it could not be finished 
in season, the queen sent her own dressing- 
case, saying that she would keep the new one 
herself. It, however, did not deceive the spies 



THE PALACE A PRISON. 



141 



who surrounded the queen. They noticed all 
these preparations, and communicated them to 
the authorities. She also very deliberately 
collected all her diamonds and jewels in her 
private boudoir, and beguiled the anxious 
hours in inclosing them in cotton and packing 
them away. These diamonds, carefully boxed 
were placed in the hands of the queen's hair- 
dresser, a man in whom she could confide to be 
carried by him to Brussels. He faithfully 
fulfilled his trust. But one of the women of 
the queen whom she did not suspect of treach- 
ery, but who was a spy of the Assembly, en- 
tered her boudoir by false keys when the queen 
was absent, and reported all these proceedings. 
The hair-dresser perished upon the scaffold 
for his fidelity. Let the name of Leonard be 
honored. The infamous informer has gone to 
oblivion, and we will not aid even to embalm 
her name in contempt. 




The Mob March inaj to A^ersailles. 



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CHAPTEK yn. 

THE FLIGHT. 

The ferment in the National Assembly was 
steadily and strongly increasing. Every day 
brought new rumors of the preparation of the 
emigrants to invade France, aided by the 
armies of monarchical Europe, and to desolate 
the rebellious empire with fire and sword. 
Tidings were floating upon every breeze grossly 
exaggerated of the designs of the king and 
queen to escape, to join the avenging army 
and to wreak a terrible vengeance upon their 
country. Furious speeches were made in the 
Assembly and in the streets, to rouse to mad- 
ness the people, now destitute of work and of 
bread. "Citizens," 'ferociously exclaimed 
Marat, ** watch, with an eagle eye, that palace, 
the impenetrable den where plots are ripening 
against the people. There a perfidious queen 
lords it over a treacherous king, and rears the 
cubs of tyranny. Lawless priests there con- 
secrate the arms which are to be bathed in the 
blood of the people. The genius of Austria 
is there, guided by the Austrian Antoinette. 
The emigrants are there stimulated in their 

142 



THE FLIGHT. 143 

thirst for vengeance. Every night the nobil- 
ity, with concealed daggers, steal into this 
den. They are knights of the poniard — as- 
sassins of the people. Why is not the prop- 
erty of emigrants confiscated — their houses 
burned — a price set upon their heads? The 
king is ready for flight. Watch ! watch ! a 
great blow is preparing— is ready to burst; if 
you do not prevent it by a counter blow more 
sudden, more terrible, the people and liberty 
are annihilated." 

The king and queen, in the apartments where 
they were virtually imprisoned, read these 
angry and inflammatory appeals, and both now 
felt that no further time was to be lost in at- 
tempting to effect their escape. It was known 
that the brother of the king, subsequently 
Charles X., was going from court to court in 
Europe, soliciting aid for the rescue of the 
illustrious prisoners. It was known that the 
King of Austria, brother of Maria Antoinette, 
had promised to send an army of thirty-five 
thousand men to unite with the emigrants at 
Coblentz in their march upon Paris. Every 
monarch in Europe was alarmed, in view of 
the instability of his own throne, should the 
rebellion of the people against the throne in 
France prove triumphant; and Spain, Prussia, 
Sardinia, Naples, and Switzerland had guar- 
anteed equal forces to assist in the re-establish- 
ment of the French monarchy. It is not 



144 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

strange that the exasperation of the people 
should have been aroused by the knowledge 
of these facts beyond all bounds. And their 
leaders were aware that they were engaged in 
a conflict in which defeat was inevitable death. 

The king had now resolved, if possible, to 
escape. He. however, declared that it never 
was his intention to join the emigrants and in- 
vade France with a foreign force. That, on 
the contrary, he strongly disapproved of the 
measures adopted by the emigrants as calcu- 
lated only to increase the excitement against 
the throne, and to peril his cause. He de- 
clared that it was only his wish to escape from 
the scenes of violence, insult, and danger to 
which he was exposed in Paris, and some- 
where on the frontiers of his kingdom to sur- 
round himself by his loyal subjects, and there 
endeavor amicably to adjust the difficulties 
which desolated the empire. The character of 
the king renders it most probable that such 
was his intention, and such has been the ver- 
dict of posterity. 

But there was another source of embarrass- 
ment which extremely troubled the royal family. 
The emigrants were deliberating upon the ex- 
pediency of declaring the throne vacant by de- 
fault of the king's liberty, and to nominate his 
brother M. le Comte d'Artois regent in his 
stead. The king greatly feared this moral for- 
feiture of the throne with which he was men- 



THE FLIGHT. 145 

aced under the pretense of delivering him. 
He was justly apprehensive that the advance 
of an invading army, under the banners of his 
brother, would be the signal for the immediate 
destruction of himself and family. Flight, 
consequently, had become his only refuge; 
and flight was encompassed with the most fear- 
ful perils. Long and agonizing were the 
months of deliberation in which the king and 
queen saw these dangers hourly accumulating 
around them, while each day the vigilance of 
their enemies was redoubled, and the chances 
of escape diminished. 

The following plan was at last adopted for 
the flight. The royal family were to leave 
Paris at midnight in disguise, in two carriages, 
for Montmedy, on the frontiers of France and 
Germany, about two hundred miles from 
Paris. This town was within the limits of 
France, so that the king could not be said to 
have fled from his kingdom. The nearest 
road and the great public throughfare led 
through the city of Kheims; but, as the king 
had been crowned there, he feared that he 
might meet some one by whom he would be 
recognized, and he therefore determined to take 
a more circuitous route, by by-roads and 
through small and unfrequented villages. 
Eelays of horses were to be privately conveyed 
to all these villages, that the carriages might 
be drawn on with the greatest rapidity, and 



110 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

small detachments of soldiers were to be 
stationed at important posts, to resist any 
interruption which might possibly be at- 
tempted by the peasantry. The king also 
had a large carriage built privately, expressly 
for himself and his family, while certain nec- 
essary attendants were to follow in another. 

The Marquis de Bouille, who commanded a 
portion of the troops still faithful to the king, 
was the prime confidant and helper in this 
movement. He earnestly, but in vain, en- 
deavored to induce the king to make some 
alterations in this plan. He entreated him, in 
the first place, not to excite suspicion by the 
use of a peculiar carriage constructed for his 
own use, but to make use of common carriages 
such as were daily seen traversing the roads. 
He also besought him to travel by the com- 
mon highway, where relays of horses were at 
all times ready by night and by day. He 
represented to the king that, should he take 
the unfrequented route, it would be necessary 
to send relays of horses beforehand to all these 
little villages; that so unusual an occurrence 
would attract attention and provoke inquiry. 
He urged also upon the king that detachments 
of troops sent along these solitary roads would 
excite curiosity, and would inevitably create 
suspicion. The king, however, self-willed, 
refused to heed these remonstrances, and per- 
sisted in his own plan. He, however, con- 



THE FLIGHT. 147 

sented to take with him the Marquis d'Agoult, 
a man of great firmness and energy, to advise 
and assist in the unforeseen accidents which 
might embarrass the enterprise. He also re- 
luctantly consented to ask the Emperor of 
Austria to make a threatening movement to- 
ward the frontier, which would be an excuse 
for the movement through these villages of de- 
tachments of French troops. 

These arrangements made, the Marquis de 
Bouille sent a faithful officer to take an accurate 
survey of the road, and present a report to the 
king. He then, under various pretexts, re- 
moved to a distance those troops who were 
known to be disaffected to the royal cause, and 
endeavored to gather along the line of flight 
those in whose loyalty he thought he could 
con^de. 

/At the palace of the Tuileries, the secret of 
the contemplated flight had been confided only 
to the king, the queen, the Princess Elizabeth, 
sister of the king, and two or three faithful 
attendants. The Count de Fersen, a most 
noble-spirited young gentleman from Sweden, 
most cheerfully periled his life in undertaking 
the exterior arrangements of this hazardous 
enterprise. He had often been admitted, in 
the happy days of Maria Antoinette, to the 
parties and fetes which lent wings to the hours 
at the Little Trianon, and chivalrous admira- 
tion of her person and character induced him 



148 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

to consecrate himself with the most passionate 
devotion to her cause. Three soldiers of the 
bodyguard, Yalorg, Monstrei, and Maldan, 
were also received into confidence, and unhesi- 
tatingly engaged in an enterprise in which suc- 
cess was extremely problematical, and failure 
was certain death. They, disguised as serv- 
ants, were to mount behind the carriages, and 
protect the royal family at all risks. 

The night of the 20th of June at length ar- 
rived, and the hearts of the royal inmates of 
the Tuileries throbbed violently as the hour 
approached which was to decide their destiny. 
At the hour of 11, according to their custom, 
they took leave of those friends who were in 
the habit of paying their respects to them at 
that time, and dismissed their attendants as if 
to retire to their beds. As soon as they were 
alone, they hastily, and with trembling hands, 
dressed themselves in the disguises which had 
been prepared for their journey, and by differ- 
ent doors and at different times left the palace. 
It was the dark hour of midnight. The 
lights glimmered feebly from the lamps, but 
still there was the bustle of crowds coming and 
going in those ever-busy streets. The queen, 
in her traveling dress, leaning upon the arm 
of one of the bodyguard, and leading her little 
daughter Maria Theresa by the hand, passed 
out at a door in the rear of the palace, and 
hastened through the Place du Carrousel, and, 



THE FLIGHT. 149 

losing her way, crossed the Seine by the Pont 
Koyal, and wandered for some time through the 
darkest and most obscure streets before she 
found the two hackney-coaches which were 
waiting for them at the Quai des Theatins. 
The king left the palace in a similar manner, 
leading his son Louis by the hand. He also 
lost his way in the unfrequented streets through 
which it was necessary for him to pass. The 
queen waited for half an hour in the most in- 
tense anxiety before the king arrived. At last, 
however, all were assembled, and, entering the 
hackney-coaches, the Count de Fersen, dis- 
guised as a coachman, leaped up on the box, 
and the wheels rattled over the pavements of 
the city as the royal family fled in this ob- 
scurity from their palace and their throne. 
The emotions excited in the bosoms of the 
illustrious fugitives were too intense, and the 
perils to which they were exposed too dreadful, 
to allow of any conversation. Grasping each 
other's hands, they sat in silence through the 
dark hours, with the gloomy remembrance of 
the past oppressing their spirits, and with the 
dread that the light of morning might introduce 
them to new disasters. A couple of hours of 
silence and gloom passed slowly away, and the 
coaches arrived at Bondy, the first stage from 
Paris. The gray dawn of the morning was 
just appearing in the east as they hurriedly 
changed their coaches for the large traveling 



1^0 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

carriage the king had ordered and another 
coach which there awaited them. Count de 
Fersen kissed the hands of the king and queen, 
and leaving them, according to previous ar- 
rangements, with their attendants hastened the 
same night by another route to Brussels, in 
order to rejoin the royal family at a later 
period. 

The king's carriages now rolled rapidly on 
toward Chalons, an important town on their 
route. The queen had assumed the title and 
character of a German baroness returning to 
Frankfort with her two children ; the king was 
her valet de chambre, the Princess Elizabeth, 
the king's sister, was her waiting maid. The 
passport was made out in the following manner : 

'^**Permit to pass Madame the Baroness of 
Korf, who is returning to Frankfort with her 
two children, her waiting-maid, her valet de 
chamhre, and three domestics. 

*'The Minister of Foreign Affairs. , 

*'MONTMORIN.'V 

At each post-house on the road relays of 
eight horses were waiting for the royal car- 
riages. When the sun rose over the hills of 
France they were already many leagues from 
the capital, and as the carriages rattled furi- 
ously along over hill and dale, the unwonted 
spectacle on tlitit unfrequented road attracted 



THE FLIGHT. 151 

much attentioD. At every little village where 
they stopped fur an exchange of horses, the 
villagers gathered in groups around the car- 
riages, admiring the imposing spectacle. The 
king was fully aware that the knowledge of his 
escape could not long be concealed from the 
authorities at Paris, and that all the resources 
of his foes would immediately be put into req- 
uisition to secure his arrest. They there- 
fore pressed on with the utmost speed, that 
they might get as far as possible on their way 
before the pursuit should commence. The re- 
markable size and structure of the carriage 
which the king had caused to be constructed, 
the number of horses drawing the carriages, 
the martial figures and commanding features of 
the three bodyguard strangely contrasting with 
the livery of menials, the portly appearance 
and kingly countenance of Louis, who sat in a 
corner of the carriage in the garh oi a, valet de 
chamhre, all these circumstances conspired to 
excite suspicion and to magnify the dangers of 
the royal family. They, however, proceeded 
without interruption until they arrived at the 
little town of Montmirail, near Chalons, where, 
unfortunately, one of the carriages broke down, 
and they were detained an hour in making re- 
pairs. It was an hour of intense anxiety, for 
they knew that every moment was increasing 
the probability of their capture. The carriage, 
however, was repaired, and they started again 

lZ — Antoinette 



152 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

on their flight. The sun shone brightly upon 
the fields, which were blooming in all the ver- 
dure of the opening summer. The seclusion 
of the region through which they were passing 
was enchanting to their eyes, weary of looking 
out upon the tumultuous mobs of Paris. The 
children, worn out by the exhaustion of a sleep- 
less night, were peacefully slumbering in their 
parents' arms. Each revolution of the wheels 
was bringing them nearer to the frontier, where 
their faithful friend, M. de Bouille, was wait- 
ing, with his loyal troops, to receive them. A 
gleam of hope and joy now rose in their 
bosoms ; and, as they entered the town of Cha- 
lons, at 3 : 30 o'clock in the afternoon, smiles 
of joy lighted their countenances, and they 
began to congratulate themselves that they were 
fast approaching the end of their dangers and 
their sufferings. As the horses were chang- 
ing, a group of idlers gathered around the car- 
riages. The king, emboldened by his dis- 
tance from the capital, imprudently looked out 
at the window of the carriage. The post- 
master, who had been in Paris, instantly 
recognized the king. He, however, without 
the manifestation of the least surprise, aided 
in harnessing the horses, and ordered the 
postilion to drive on. He would not be an 
accomplice in arresting the escape of the king. 
At the next relay, at Point Sommeville, quite 
a concourse gathered around the carriages, and 



THE FLIGHT. 153 

ibe populace appeared uneasy and suspicious. 
They watched the travelers very narrowly, and 
were observed to be whispering with one 
another, and making ominous signs. No one, 
however, ventured to make any movement to 
detain the carriages, and they proceeded on 
their way. A detachment of fifty hussars had 
been appointed to meet the king at this spot. 
They were there at the assigned moment. The 
breaking down of the carriage, however, de- 
tained the king, and the hussars, observing the 
suspicions their presence was awaking, de- 
parted half an hour before the arrival of the 
carriages. Had the king arrived but one half 
hour sooner, the safety of the royal family 
would have been secured. The king was sur- 
prised and alarmed at not meeting the guard he 
had anticipated, and drove rapidly on to the 
next relay at Sainte Menehould. It was now 
7 : 30 o'clock of a beautiful summer's evening. 
The sun was just sinking below the horizon, 
but the broad light still lingered upon the val- 
leys and the hills. As they were changing the 
horses, the king, alarmed at not meeting the 
friends he expected, put his head out of the 
window to see if any friend was there who 
could inform him why the detachments were 
detained. The son of the postmaster instantly 
recognized the king by his resemblance to the 
imprint upon the coins in circulation. The 
report was immediately whispered about among 



154 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the crowd, but there was not sufficient force, 
upon the spur of the moment, to venture to de- 
tain the carriages. There was in the town a 
detachment of troops, friendly to the king, 
who would immediately have come to his 
rescue had the people attempted to arrest him. 
It was whispered among the dragoons that the 
king was in the carriage, and the commandant 
immediately ordered the troops to mount their 
horses and follow to protect the royal family ; 
but the National Guard in the place, far more 
numerous, surrounded the barracks, closed the 
stables, and would not allow the soldiers to de- 
part. The king, entirely unconscious of these 
movements, was pursuing his course toward the 
next relay. Young Drouet, however, the post- 
master's son, had immediately, upon recogniz- 
ing the king, saddled his fleetest horse, and 
started at his utmost speed for the post-house 
at Varennes, that he might, before the king's 
arrival, inform the municipal authorities of 
his suspicions, and collect a sufficient force to 
detain the travelers. One of the dragoons, 
witnessing the precipitate departure of Drouet, 
and suspecting its cause, succeeded in mount- 
ing his horse, and pursued him, resolved to 
overtake him, and either detain him until the 
king had passed, or take his life. Drouet, 
however, perceiving that he was pursued, 
plunged into the woods, with every by-path of 
which he was familiar, and, in the darkness of 



THE FLIGHT. 155 

the night, eluded his pursuer, and arrived at 
Yarennes, by a very much shorter route than 
the carriage road, nearly two hours before 
the king. He immediately communicated 
to a band of young men his suspicions, 
and they, emulous of the glory of arresting 
their sovereign, did not inform the authorities 
or arouse the populace, but, arming them- 
selves, they formed an ambush to seize the 
persons of the travelers. It was 7 : 30 o'clock 
of a cold, dark, and gloomy night, when the 
royal family, exhausted with twenty-four 
hours of incessant anxiety and fatigue, arrived 
at the few straggling houses in the outskirts of 
the village of Varennes. They there confi- 
dently expected to find an escort and a relay ol 
horses provided by their careful friend, M. 
Bouille, 

A small river passes through the little town 
of Varennes, dividing it into two portions, the 
upper and lower town, which villages are con- 
nected by a bridge crossing the stream. The 
king, by some misunderstanding, expected to 
find the relay upon the side of the river before 
crossing the bridge. But the fresh horses had 
been judiciously placed upon the other side of 
the river, so that the carriages, having crossed 
the bridge at full speed, could more easily, 
^ith a change of horses, hasten unmolested on 
their way. The king and queen, greatly 
alarmed at finding no horses, left the carriage, 



156 ' MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

and wandered about in sad perplexity for half 
an hour, through the dark, silent, and deserted 
streets. In most painful anxiety they returned 
to their carriages, and decided to cross the 
river, hoping to find the horses and their 
friends in the upper town. The bridge was a 
narrow stone structure with its entrance sur- 
mounted by a gloomy demilune arch, upon 
which was reared a tower, a relic of the feudal 
system, which had braved the storms of cen- 
turies. Here, under this dark archway, Drouet 
and his companions had formed their ambus- 
cade. The horse had hardly entered the 
gloomy pass, when they were stopped by a cart 
which had been overturned, and five or six 
armed men, seizing their heads, ordered the 
travelers to alight and exhibit their passports. 
The three bodyguard seized their arms, and 
were ready to sacrifice their lives in the attempt 
to force the passage, but the king would allow- 
no blood to be shed. The horses were turned 
round by the captors, and the carriages were 
escorted by Drouet and his comrades to the 
door of a grocer named Sausse, who was the 
humble mayor of this obscure town. At the 
same time, some of the party rushed to the 
church, mounted the belfry, and rang the alarm 
bell. The solemn booming of that midnight 
bell roused the affrighted inhabitants from 
their pillows, and soon the whole population 
was gathered around the carriages and about 



THE FLIGHT. 157 

the door of the grocer's shop. It was in vain 
for the king to deny his rant. His marked 
features betrayed him. Clamor and confusion 
filled the night air. Men, women, and chil- 
dren were running to and fro ; the populace were 
arming, to be prepared for any emergency ; 
and the royal family were worn out by sleep- 
lessness and toil. At last Louis made a bold 
appeal to the magnanimity of his foes. Tak- 
ing the hand of Sauase, he said : 

**Yes! I am your king, and in your hands I 
place my destiny, and that of my wife, my sis- 
ter, and my children. Our lives and the fate 
of the empire depend upon you. Permit me 
to continue my journey. I have no design of 
leaving the country. I am but going to the 
midst of a part of the army, and in a French 
town to regain my real liberty, of which the 
factions at Paris deprive me. From thence I 
wish to make terms with the assembly, who, 
like myself, are held in subjection through fear. 
I am not about to destroy, but to save and to 
secure the constitution. If you detain me, I my- 
self, France, all, are lost. I conjure you, as a 
father, as a man, as a citizen, leave the road free 
to us. In an hour we shall be saved, and with 
us France is saved. And, if you have any re- 
spect for one whom you profess to regard as 
your master, I command you, as your king, 
to permit us to depart." 

The appeal touched the heart of the grocer 



158 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

and the captor^ by whom the king was sur* 
rounded. Tears came into the eyes of many, 
they hesitated : the expression of their coun- 
tenances showed that they would willingly, if 
they dared to consult the dictates of their own 
hearts, let the king pass on. A more affecting 
scene can hardly be imagined. It was mid- 
night. Torches and flambeaux were gleaming 
around. Men, women, and children were 
hurrying to and fro in the darkness. The 
alarm bell was pealing out its hurried sounds 
through the still air. A crowd of half -dressed 
peasants and artisans was rapidly accumulat- 
ing about the inn. The king stood pleading 
with his subjects for liberty and life, far more 
moved by compassion for his wife and children 
than for himself. The children, weary and 
terrified, and roused suddenly from the sleep 
in which they had been lost in their parents' 
arms, gazed upon the strange scene with unde- 
fined dread, unconscious of the magnitude of 
their peril. The queen, seated upon a bale of 
goods in the shop, with her two children cling- 
ing to her side, plead, at times with the tears 
of despair, and again with all the majesty of 
her queenly nature, for pity -or for justice. 
She hoped that a woman's heart throbbed be- 
neath the bosom of the wife of the mayor, and 
made an appeal to her which one would think 
that, under the circumstances, no human heart 
could have resisted. 



THE FLIGHT. 159 

**Tou are a mother, madame/* said the 
queen in most imploring accents, "you are a 
wife! the fate of a wife and mother is in your 
hands. Think what I must suffer for these 
children — for my husband. At one word from 
you I shall owe them to you. The Queen of 
France will owe you more than her kingdom — 
more than life. ' ' 

** Madame," coldly replied the selfish and 
calculating woman, *'I should be happy to help 
you if I could without danger. You are think- 
ing of your husband, 1 am thinking of mine. 
It is a wife's first duty to think of her own hus- 
band." 

The queen saw that all appeals to such a 
spirit must be in vain, and, taking her two 
children by the hand, with Madame Elizabeth 
ascended the stairs which conducted from the 
grocer's shop to his rooms above, where she 
was shielded from the gaze of the crowd. She 
threw herself into a chair, and, overwhelmed 
with anguish, burst into a flood of tears. The 
alarm bell continued to ring; telegraphic dis- 
patches were sent to Paris, communicating tid- 
ings of the arrest; the neighboring villagers 
flocked into town; the National Guard, com- 
posed of people opposed to the king were rapid- 
ly assembled from all quarters, and the streets 
barricaded to prevent the possibility of any 
rescue by the soldiers who advocated the royal 
cause. Thus the dreadful hours lingered away 



160 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

till the morning dawned. The increasing 
crowd stimulated one another to ferocity and 
barbarity. Insults, oaths, and imprecations 
incessantly fell upon the ears of the captives. 
The queen probably endured as much of mental 
agony that night as the human mind is capable 
of enduring. The conflict of indignation, ter- 
ror, and despair was so dreadful, that her hair, 
which the night previous had been auburn, was 
in the morning white as snow. This extraor- 
dinary fact is well attested, and indicates an 
enormity of woe almost incomprehenaible. 

There was no knowledge in Paris of the 
king*8 departure until 7 o'clock in the morn- 
ing, when the servants of the palace entered 
the apartments of the king and queen, and 
found the beds undisturbed and the rooms de- 
serted. The alarm spread like wildfire through 
the palace and through the city. The alarm 
bells were rung, cannon were fired, and the cry 
resounded through the streets, ''The king has 
fled! the king has fled!" The terrified popu- 
lace were expecting almost at the next moment 
to see him return with an avenging army to 
visit his rebellious subjects with the most 
terrible retribution. From all parts of the 
city, every lane, and street, and alley leading 
to the Tuileries was thronged with the crowd, 
pouring on, like an inundation, toward the de- 
serted palace. The doors were forced open, 
and the interior of the palace was instantly 




lO — Antoinette 



THE FLIGHT. 161 

filled with the swarming multitudes. The mob 
from the streets polluted the sanctuaries of 
royalty with every species of vulgarity and ob- 
scenity. An amazon market-woman took pos- 
session of the queen's bed, and, spreading her 
cherries upon it, she took her seat upon the 
royal couch, exclaiming, *' To-day it is the 
nation's turn to take their ease." One of the 
caps of the queen was placed in derision upon 
the head of a vile girl of the street. She ex- 
claimed that it would sully her forehead, and 
trampled it under her feet with contempt. 
Every conceivable insult was heaped upon the 
royal family. Placards posted upon the 
walls offered trivial rewards to any one who 
would bring back the noxious animals which 
had fled from the palace. The metropolis was 
agitated to its very center, and the most vigor- 
ous measures immediately adopted to arrest the 
king, if possible, before he should reach the 
friends who could afford him protection. 
This turmoil continued for many hours, till 
the cry passed from mouth to mouth, and filled 
the streets, "He is arrested! he is arrested!" 




CHAPTER Vin. 



THE BETUBN TO PARIS. 

During all the long hours of the night, 
while the king was detained in the grocer's 
shop at Varennes, he was, with anxiety inde- 
scribable, looking every moment for soldiers to 
appear, sent by M. Bouille for his rescue. 
But the National Guard, which was composed 
of those who were in favor of the Revolution, 
were soon assembled in such numbers as to 
render all idea of rescue hopeless. The sun 
rose upon Yarennes but to show the king the 
utter desperation of his condition, and he re- 
signed himself to despair. The streets were 
filled with an infuriated populace, and from 
every direction the people were flocking toward 
the focus of excitement. The children of the 
royal family, utterly exhausted, had fallen 
asleep. Madame Elizabeth, one of the most 
lovely and gentle of earthly beings, the sister 
of the king, who, through all these trials, and, 
indeed, through her whols life, manifested 
peculiarly the spirit of heaven, was, regardless 
of herself, earnestly praying for support for 

her brother and sister, 
162 



IHE RETURN TO tARIS. 163 

Preparations were immediately made to for- 
ward the captives to Paris, lest the troops of 
M. Bouille, informed of their arrest, should 
come to their rescue. The king did everything 
in his power to delay the departure, and one 
of the women of the queen feigned sudden and 
alarming illness at the moment all of the rest 
had been pressed into the carriages. But the 
impatience of the populace could not thus be 
restrained. With shouts and threats they com- 
pelled all into the carriages, and the melan- 
choly procession, escorted by three or four 
thousand of the ISational Guaid, and -followed 
by a numerous and ever-increasing concourse 
of the people, moved slowly toward Paris. 
Hour after hour dragged heavily along as the 
fugitives, drinking the very dregs of humilia- 
tion, were borne hj their triumphant and exas- 
perated foes back to the horrors from which 
they had fled. The road was lined on either 
side by countless thousands, insulting the 
agonized victims with derision, menaces, and 
the most ferocious gestures. Yarennes is 
distant from Paris one hundred and eighty 
miles, and for this whole distance, by night 
and by day, with hardly an hour's delay for 
food or repose, the royal family were exposed 
to the keenest torture of which the spiritual 
nature is in this world susceptible. Every 
revolution of the wheels but brought them into 
contact with fresh vociferations of calumny. 



164 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

The«fury of the populace was so greai; tnat it 
was with difficulty that the guard could protect 
their captives from the most merciless massa- 
cre. Again and again there was a rush made 
at the carriages, and the mob was beaten back 
by the arms of the soldiers. One old gentle- 
man, M. Dampierre, ever accustomed to vener- 
ate royalty, stood by the roadside, affected by 
the profoundest grief in view of the melancholy 
spectacle. Uncovering his gray hairs, he 
bowed respectfully to his royal master, and 
ventured to give utterance to accents of sym- 
pathy. -The infuriated populace fell upon him 
like tigers, and tore him to pieces before the 
eyes of the king and queen. The wheels of the 
royal carriage came very near running over 
his bleeding corpse. 

The procession was at length met by com- 
missioners sent from the assembly to take 
charge of the king. Ashamed of the brutality 
of the people, Barnave and Petion, the two 
commissioners, entered the royal carriage to 
share the danger of its inmates. They shielded 
the prisoners from death, but they could not 
shield them from insult and outrage. An 
ecclesiastic, venerable in person and in char- 
acter, approached the carriages as they moved 
sadly along, and exhibited upon his features 
some traces of respect and sorrow for fallen 
royalty. It was a mortal offense. The brutal 
multitude would not endure a look even of 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 165 

sympathy for the descendant of a hundred 
kings. They rushed upon the defenseless 
clergyman, and would have killed him instantly 
had not Barnave most energetically interfered. 
"Frenchmen!" he shouted, from the carriage 
windows, "will you, a nation of brave men, 
become a people of murderers !" Barnave was 
a young man of much nobleness of character. 
His polished manners, and his sympathy for 
the wrecked and ruined family of the king, 
quite won their gratitude. Petion, on the 
contrary, was coarse and brutal. He was a 
Democrat in the worst sense of that abused 
word. He affected rude and rough familiarity 
with the royal family, lounged contemptuously 
upon the cushions, ate apples and melons, and 
threw the rind out of the window, careless 
whether or not he hit the king in the face. In 
all his remarks he seemed to take a ferocious 
pleasure in wounding the feelings of his vic- 
tims. 

As the cavalcade drew near to Paris, the 
crowds surrounding the carriages became still 
more dense, and the fury of the populace more 
unmeasured. 

The leaders of the National Assembly were 
very desirous of protecting the royal family 
from the rage of the mob, and to shield the 
nation from the disgrace of murdering the king, 
the queen, and their children in the streets. 
It was feared that, when the prisoners should 

lo — Antoinette 



166 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

enter the thronged city, where the mob had so 
long held undisputed sway, it would be impos- 
sible to restrain the passions of the multitude, 
and that the pavements would be defaced with 
the blood of the victims. Placards were pasted 
upon the walls in every part of the city, ** Who- 
ever applauds the king shall be beaten ; who- 
ever insults him shall be hung." As the car- 
riages approached the suburbs of the metrop- 
olis, the multitudes which thronged them be- 
came still more numerous and tumultuous, and 
the exhibitions of violence more appalling. 
All the dens of infamy in the city vomited 
their denizens to meet and deride, and, if pos- 
sible, to destroy the captured monarch. It 
was a day of intense and suffocating heat. Ten 
persons were crowded into the royal carriage. 
Not a breath of air fanned the fevered cheeks 
of the sufferers. The heat, reflected from the 
pavements and the bayonets, was almost in- 
supportable. Clouds of dust enveloped them, 
and the sufferings of the children were so great 
that the queen was actually apprehensive that 
they would die. The queen dropped the win- 
dow of the carriage, and, in a voice of agony, 
implored some one to give her a cup of water 
for her fainting child. "See, gentlemen," she 
exclaimed, "in what a condition my poor 
children are! one of them is choking." 

"We will yet choke them and you," was the 
brutal reply, "in another fashion." Several 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 167 

times the mob broke through the line which 
guarded the carriages, pushed aside the horses, 
and, mounting the steps, stretched their 
clinched fists in at the windows. The proces- 
sion moved perseveringly along in the midst of 
the clashing of sabers, the clamor of the blood- 
thirsty multitude, and the cries of men trampled 
under the hoofs of the horses. 

It was the 25th of June, 1791, at 7 o'clock 
in the evening, when this dreadful procession, 
passing through the Barrier de I'Etoile, en- 
tered the city, and traversed the streets, 
through double files of soldiers, to the Tuiler- 
ies. At length they arrived, half-dead with 
exhaustion and despair, at the palace. The 
crowd was so immense that it was with the ut- 
most difficulty that an entrance could be 
effected. At that moment, La Fayette, who 
had been adopting the most vigorous measures 
for the protection of the persons of the royal 
family, came to meet them. The moment 
Maria Antoinette saw him, forgetful of her own 
danger, and trembling for the bodyguard who 
had periled their lives for her family, she ex- 
claimed : " Monsieur La Fayette, save the body- 
guard." The king and queen alighted from 
the carriage. Some of the soldiers took the 
children, and carried them through the crowd 
into the palace. A member of the assembly, 
who had been inimical to the king, came for- 
ward and offered his arm to the queen for her 



168 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

protection. She looked him a moment in the 
face, and indignantly rejected the proffered 
aid of an enemy. Then, seeing a deputy who 
had been their friend, she eagerly accepted his 
arm, and ascended the steps of the palace. A 
prolonged roar, as of thunder, ascended from 
the multitudinous throng which surrounded 
the palace when the king and queen had en- 
tered, and the doors of their prison were again 
closed against them. 

La Fayette was at the head of the National 
Guard. He was a strong advocate for the 
rights of the people. At the same time, he 
wished to respect the rights of the king, and 
to sustain a constitutional monarchy. As soon 
as they had entered the palace, Maria Antoin- 
ette, with that indomitable spirit which ever 
characterized her, approached La Fayette, and 
offered to him the keys of her casket, as if he 
were her jailer. La Fayette, deeply wounded, 
refused to receive them. The queen indig- 
nantly, with her own hands, placed them in 
his hat. ''Your majesty will have the good- 
ness to take them back," said the marquis, 
"for I certainly shall not touch them." 

The position of La Fayette at this time was 
about as embarrassing as it could possibly 
have been ; and he was virtually the jailer of 
the royal family, answerable with his life for 
their safe keeping. He had always been a 
firm friend of civil and religious liberty. He 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 169 

was very anxious to see France blessed with 
those free institutions and that recognition of 
popular rights which are the glory of America, 
but he also wished to protect the king and 
queen from outrage and insult ; and a storm of 
popular fury had now risen which he knew not 
how to control or to guide. He, however, re- 
solved to do all in his power to protect the 
royal family, and to watch the progress of 
events with the hope of establishing constitu- 
tional liberty and a constitutional throne over 
France. 

The palace was now guarded, by command 
of the assembly, with a degree of rigor unknown 
before. The iron gates of the courts and garden 
of the Tuileries were kept locked. 

A list of the persons who were to be permitted 
to see the royal family was made out, and none 
others were allowed to enter. At every door sen- 
tinels were placed, and in every passage and in 
the corridor which connected the chambers 
of the king and queen, armed men were sta- 
tioned. The doors of the sleeping apartments 
of the king and queen were kept open night and 
day, and a guard was placed there to keep his eye 
ever upon the victims. No respect was paid to 
female modesty, and the queen was compelled 
to retire to her bed under the watchful eye of 
an unfeeling soldier. It seems impossible that 
a civilized people could have been guilty of 
such barbarism, But all sentiments of human- 



170 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

ity appear to have fled from France. One of 
the queen's women, at night, would draw her 
own bed between that of the queen and the 
open door, that she might thus partially- shield 
the person of her royal mistress. The king 
was so utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude 
of the calamities in which he was now in- 
volved, that his mind, for a season, seemed to 
be prostrated and paralyzed by the blow. For 
ten days he did not exchange a single word 
with any member of his family, but moved 
sadly about in the apathy of despair, or sat in 
moody silence. At last the queen threw her- 
self upon her knees before him, and, presenting 
to him her children, besought him, for her 
sake and that of their little ones, to rouse his 
fortitude. "We may all perish," she said, 
**but let us, at least, perish like sovereigns, 
and not wait to be strangled unresistingly upon 
the very floor of our apartments." 

The long and dreary months of the autumn, 
the winter, and the spring thus passed away, 
with occasional gleams of hope visiting their 
minds, but with the storm of revolution, on 
the whole, growing continually more black and 
terrific. General anarchy rioted throughout 
France. Murders were daily committed with 
impunity. There was no law. The mob had 
all power in their hands. Neither the king 
nor queen could make their appearance any- 
where without exposure to insult, yiolent 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 171 

harangues in the assembly and in the streets 
had at length roused the populace to a new act 
of outrage. The immediate cause was the 
refusal of the king to give his sanction to a 
bill for the persecution of the priests. It was 
the 20th of June, 1792. A tumultuous assem- 
blage of all the miserable, degraded, and 
vicious, who thronged the garrets and the 
cellars of Paris, and who had been gathered 
from all lands by the lawlessness with which 
crime could riot in the capital, were seen con- 
verging, as by a common instinct, toward the 
palace. They bore banners fearfully expres- 
sive of their ferocity, and filled the air with 
the most savage outcries. Upon the end of a 
pike there was affixed a bleeding heart, with 
the inscription: *'The heart of the aristoc- 
racy." Another bore a doll, suspended to a 
frame by the neck, with this inscription: "To 
the gibbet with the Austrian. ' * "With the fero- 
city of wolves, they surrounded the palace in a 
mass impenetrable. The king and queen, as 
they looked from their windows upon the mul- 
titudinous gathering, swaying to and fro like 
the billows of the ocean in a storm, and with 
the clamor of human passions, more awful than 
the voice of many waters, rending the skies, in- 
stinctively clung to one another and to their 
children in their powerlessness. Madame 
Elizabeth, with her saint-like spirit and her 
heaven-directed thoughts, was ever unmindful 



172 MARIA ANTOINETTE* 

of her own personal danger in her devotion to 
her beloved brother. The king hoped that the 
soldiers who were stationed as a guard within 
the inclosures of the palace would be able to 
protect them from violence. The gates leading 
to the Place du Carrousel were soon shattered 
beneath the blows of axes, and the human tor- 
rent poured in with the resistlessness of a 
flood. The soldiers very deliberately shook 
the priming from their guns, as the emphatic 
expression to the mob that they had nothing to 
fear from them, and the artillerymen coolly 
directs their pieces against the palace. Axes 
and iron bars were immediately leveled at the 
doors, and they flew from their hinges; and 
the drunken and infuriated rabble, with clubs, 
and pistols, and daggers, poured, an intermin- 
able throng, through the halls and apartments 
where kings, for ages, had reigned in inap- 
proachable pomp and power. The servants of 
the king, in terror, fled in every direction. 
Still the crowd came rushing and roaring on, 
crashing the doors before them, till they ap- 
proached the apartment in which the royal 
family was secluded. The king, who, though 
deficient in active energy, possessed passive 
fearlerssness in the most eminent degree, left 
his wife, children, and sister clinging together, 
and entered the adjoining room to meet his 
assailants. Just as he entered the room, the 
door, which was bolted^ fell with a crash, and 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 17^ 

the mob was before him. For a moment the 
wretches were held at bay by the calm dignity 
of the monarch, as, without the tremor of a 
nerve, he gazed steadily upon them. The 
crowd in the rear pressed on upon those in the 
advance, and three friends of the king had just 
time to interpose themselves between him and 
the mob, when the whole dense throng rushed 
in and filled the room. A drunken assassin, 
with a sharp iron affixed to a long pole, aimed 
a thrust violently at the king's heart. One 
blow from an heroic citizen laid him prostrate 
on the floor, and he was trampled under the 
feet of the throng. Oaths and imprecations 
filled the room ; knives and sabers gleamed, 
and yet the majesty of royalty, for a few brief 
moments, repelled the ferocity of the assassins. 
A few officers of the National Guard, roused 
by the peril of the king, succeeded in reaching 
him, and, crowding him into the embrasure of 
a window, placed themselves as a shield before 
him. The king seemed only anxious to with- 
draw the attention of the mob from the room 
in which his family were clustered, where he 
saw his sister, Madame Elizabeth, with ex- 
tended arms and imploring looks, struggling 
to come and share his fate. ' ' It is the queen ! ' ' 
was the cry, and a score of weapons were 
turned toward her. "No! no!" exclaimed 
others, *'it is Madame Elizabeth." Her 
gentle spirit, even in these degraded hearts, 



174 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

had won admiration, and not a blow fell upon 
her. **Ah!'* exclaimed Madame Elizabeth, 
**why do you undeceive them ? Gladly would 
I die in her place, if I might thus save the 
queen. ' ' By the surging of the crowd she was 
swept into the embrasure of another window, 
where she was hemmed in without any possi- 
bility of extrication. By this time the crowds 
were like locusts, climbing up the balconies, 
and pouring in at the windows, and every foot 
of ground around the palace was filled with the 
excited throng. Shouts of derision filled the 
air, while the mob without were incessantly 
crying: *' Have you killed them yet? Throw 
us out their heads. ' ' 

Almost miraculously, the friends surround- 
ing the king succeeded in warding off the blows 
which were aimed at him. One of the mob 
thrust out to the king, upon the end of a pike, 
a red bonnet^ the badge of the Jacobins, and 
there was a general shout: ''Let him put it 
on! let him put it on! It is a sign of patriot- 
ism. If he is a patriot he will wear it. " The 
king, smiling, took the bonnet and put it upon 
his head. Instantly there rose a shout from 
the fickle multitude, *' Vive le roi!'' The mob 
had achieved its victory, and placed the badge 
of its power upon the brow of the humbled 
monarch. 

There was at that time standing in the court- 
yard of the palace a young man, with the blood 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 175 

boiling with indignation in his veins, in view 
of the atrocities of the mob. The ignominious 
spectacle of the red bonnet upon the head of 
the king, as he stood in the recess of the win- 
dow, seemed more than this young man could 
endure, and, turning upon his heel, he hast- 
ened away, exclaiming: "The wretches! the 
wretches! they ought to be mown down by 
grape-shot." This is the first glimpse the 
Revolution presents of Napoleon Bonaparte. 

But while the king was enduring their tor- 
tures in one apartment, the queen was suffering 
indignities and outrages equally atrocious in 
another. Maria Antoinette was, in the eyes 
of the populace, the personification of every- 
thing to be hated. They believed her to be 
infamous as a wife; proud, tyrannical, and 
treacherous; that, as an Austrian, she hated 
France ; that she was doing all in her power to 
induce foreign armies to invade the French 
empire with fire and sword ; and that she had 
instigated the king to attempt escape, that he 
might head the armies. Maria, conscious of 
this hatred, was aware that her presence would 
only augment the tide of indignation swelling 
against the king, and she therefore remained 
in the bedchamber with her children. But 
her sanctuary was instantly invaded. The 
door of her apartment had been, by some 
friend, elosed and bolted. Its stout oaken 
panels were soon dashed in, and the door 



176 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

driven from its hinges. A crowd of miserable 
women, abandoned to the lowest depths of 
degradation and vulgarity, rushed into the 
apartment, assailing her ears with the most 
obscene and loathsome epithets the language 
could afford. The queen stood in the recess 
of a window, with queenly pride curbing her 
mortal apprehension. A few friends had 
gathered around her, and placed a table before 
her as a partial protection. Her daughter, 
an exceedingly beautiful girl of fourteen years 
of age, with her light brown hair floating in 
ringlets over her fair brow and shoulders, 
clung to her mother's bosom as if she thought 
not of herself, but would only, with her own 
body, shield her mother's heart from the 
dagger of the assassin. Her son, but seven 
years old, clung to his mother's hand, gazing 
with a bewildered look of terror upon the 
hideous spectacle. The vociferations of the 
mob were almost deafening. But the aspect 
of the group, so lovely and so helpless, seemed 
to disarm the hand of violence. Now and 
then, in the endless crowd defiling through the 
room, those in the advance, pressed resistlessly 
on by those in the rear, some one more tender- 
hearted would speak a word of sympathy. A 
young girl came crowded along, neatly dressed, 
and with a pleasing countenance. She, how- 
ever, immediately began to revile the queen in 
the coarsest language of vituperation. 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 177 

"Why do you hate me so, my friend?" said 
the queen kindly ; "have I ever done anything 
to injure or to offend you?" 

**No! you have never injured me,** was the 
reply, **but it is you who cause the misery of 
the nation.'* 

''Poor child!" rejoined the queen, **you 
have been told so, and have been deceived. 
Why should I make the people miserable? I 
am the wife of the king — the mother of the 
dauphin ; and by all the feelings of my heart, 
as a wife and mother, I am a Frenchwoman. 
I shall never see my own country again. lean 
only be happy or unhappy in France. I was 
happy when you loved me." 

The heart of the girl was touched. She 
burst into tears, and exclaimed : ''Pardon me 
good queen, I did not know you ; but now I see 
that I have indeed been deceived, and you are 
truly good." 

Hour after hour of humiliation and agony 
thus rolled away. The National Assembly 
met, and in vain the friends of the king urged 
its action to rescue the royal family from the 
insults and perils to which they were exposed. 
But these efforts were met by the majority 
only with derision. They hoped that the 
terrors of the mob would compel the king here- 
after to give his assent to any law whatever 
which they might frame. At last the shades 
of night began to add their gloom to this awful 



178 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

scene, and even the most bitter enemies of the 
king did not think it safe to leave forty thou- 
sand men, inflamed with intoxication and rage, 
to riot, through the hours of the night, in 
the parlors, halls, and chambers of the Tuiler- 
ies. The president of the Assembly, at that 
late hour, crowded his way into the apartment 
where, for several hours, the king had been ex- 
posed to every conceivable indignity. The 
mysterious authority of law opened the way 
through the throng. 

**I have only just learned," said the presi- 
dent, **the situation of your majesty." 

**That is very astonishing, ' ' replied the king 
indignantly, "for it is a long time that it has 
lasted." 

The president, mounted upon the shoulders 
of four grenadiers, addressed the mob and 
urged them to retire, and they, weary with the 
long hours of outrages, slowly sauntered 
through the halls and apartments of the palace, 
and at 8 o'clock silence reigned, with the gloom 
of night, throughout the Tuileries. The 
moment the mob became perceptibly less, the 
king received his sister into his arms, and 
they hastened to the apartment of the queen. 
During all the horrors of this awful day, her 
heroic soul had never quailed; but, now that 
the peril was over, she threw herself upon the 
bosom of her husband, and wept in all the 
bitterness of inconsolable grief. As the family 



THE RETURN TO PARIS. 179 

were locked in each other's arms in silent 
gratitude for their preservation, the king acci- 
dentally beheld in a mirror the red bonnet, 
which he had forgotten <o remove from his 
head. He turned red with mortification, and, 
casting upon the floor the badge of his degra- 
dation, turned to the queen, with his eyes filled 
with tears, and exclaimed : ''Ah, madame, why 
did I take you from your country, to associate 
you with the ignominy of such a day as this!" 

After the withdrawal of the mob, several of 
the deputies of the National Assembly were in 
the apartment with the royal family, and, as 
the queen recounted the horrors of the last five 
hours, one of them, though bitterly hostile to 
the royal family, could not refrain from tears. 
"You weep," said she to him, *'at seeing the 
king and his family so cruelly treated by a 
people whom he always wished to make 
happy." 

"True, madame," unfeelingly replied the 
deputy, "I weep for the misfortunes of a beau- 
tiful and sensitive woman, the mother of a 
family. But do not mistake; not one of my 
tears falls for either king or queen. I hate 
kings and queens. It is the only feeling they 
inspire me with. It is my religion." 

But time stops not. The hours of a dark 
and gloomy night, succeeding this terrible day, 
lingered slowly along, but no sleep visited the 
eyelids of the inmates of the Tuileries. Scowl- 

14 — Antoinette 



180 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

iDg guards still eyed them malignantly, and 
the royal family could not unbosom to one 
another their sorrows but in the presence of 
those who were hostile spies upon every word 
and action. Escape was now apparently hope- 
less. The events of the past day had taught 
them that they had no protection against popu- 
lar fury. And they were filled with the most 
gloomy forebodings of woes yet to come. 

These scenes occurred on the 20th of June, 
1792. On the 14th of July of the sarne year 
there was to be a magnificent /e^e in the Champ 
de Mars, as the anniversary of the indepen- 
dence of the nation. The king and queen were 
compelled to be present to grace the triumph 
of the people, and to give the royal oath. It 
was anticipated that there would be many at- 
tempts on that day to assassinate the king and 
queen. Some of the friends of the royal 
family urged that they should each wear a 
breastplate yWhich would guard against the first 
stroke of a dagger, and thus give the king's 
friends time to defend him. A breastplate 
was secretly made for the king. It consisted 
of fifteen folds of Italian taffeta, and was 
formed into an under waistcoat and a wide belt. 
Its impenetrability was tried, and it resisted 
all thrusts of the dagger, and several balls 
were turned aside by it. Madame Oampan 
wore it for three days as an under petticoat be- 
fore an opportunity could be found for the 



TilE RETURN TO PARIS. ISl 

king to try it on unperceived. At length, one 
morning, in the queen's chamber, a moment's 
opportunity occurred, and he slipped it on, 
saying, at the same time, to Madame Campan: 
**It is to satisfy the queen that I submit to this 
inconvenience. They will not assassinate me. 
Their scheme is changed. They will put me 
to death in another way." 

A dagger-proof corset had also been prepared 
for the queen without her knowledge. She, 
however, could not be persuaded to wear it. 
**If they assassinate TTze, " she said, *'it will 
be a most happy event. It will release me 
from the most sorrowful existence, and may 
save from a cruel death the rest of the family." 
The 14th of July arrived. The king, queen, 
and dauphin were marched, like captives grac- 
ing an Oriental triumph, at the head of the 
procession, from the palace to the Champ de 
Mars. With pensive features and saddened 
hearts they passed along through the single file 
of soldiers, who were barely able to keep at 
bay the raging mob, furious for their blood, 
and maledictions fell heavily upon their ears 
from a thousand tongues. The fountain of 
tears was dry, and despair had nerved them 
with stoicism. They returned to the palace 
in the deepest dejection, and never again ap- 
peared in the streets of Paris till they were 
borne to their execution. 




CHAPTEK IX. 



IMPKISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 



Eyery day now added to the insults and an- 
guish the royal family were called to endure. 
They were under such apprehension of having 
their food poisoned that all the articles 
placed upon the table by the attendants, pro- 
vided by the assembly, were removed un- 
touched, and they ate and drank nothing but 
what was secretly provided by one of the ladies 
of the be dchamber. One day the queen 
stood at her window, looking out sadly into 
the garden of the Tuileries, when a soldier, 
standing under the window, with his bayonet 
upon his gun, looked up to her and said: ''I 
wish, Austrian woman, that I had your head 
upon my bayonet here, that I might pitch it 
over the wall to the dogs in the street. ' ' And 
this man was placed under her window osten- 
sibly for her protection ! Whenever the queen 
made her appearance in the garden, she en- 
countered insults often too outrageous to be 
related. An assassin, one night, with his 

sharpened dagger, endeavored to penetrate her 

182 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 183 

chamber. She was awakened by the noise of 
the struggle with the guard at the door. The as- 
sassin was arrested. ''What a life!" ex- 
claimed the queen. * 'Insults by day, and as- 
sassins by night ! But let him go. He came 
to murder me. Had he succeeded, the Jaco- 
bins would have borne him to-morrow in tri- 
umph through the streets of Paris. ' ' 

The allied army, united with the emigrants, 
in a combined force of nearly one hundred and 
fifty thousand men, now entered the frontiers 
of France, to rescue, by military power, the 
royal family. They issued a proclamation, in 
which it was stated that "the allied sovereigns 
had taken up arms to stop the anarchy which 
prevailed in France — to give liberty to the 
king, and restore him to the legitimate author- 
ity of which he had been deprived." The 
proclamation assured the people of Paris that, 
if they did not immediately liberate the king 
and return to their allegiance, the city of Paris 
should be totally destroyed, and that the ene- 
mies of the king should forfeit their heads. 
This proclamation, with the invasion of the 
French territory by the allied army, fanned to 
the intensest fury the flames of passion already 
raging in all parts of the empire. Thousands 
of young men from all the provinces thronged 
into the city, breathing vengeance against the 
royal family. In vain did the king declare his 
disapproval of these violent measuye^ on th^ 



184 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

part of the allies. In vain did he assert his 
readiness to head the armies of France to repel 
invasion. 

There were now three important parties in 
France struggling for power. The first was 
that of the king, and the nobles generally, 
wishing for the re-establishment of the mon- 
archy. The second was that of the Girondists, 
wishing for the dethronement of the king and 
the establishment of a republic, with the 
power in the hands of the most influential 
citizens in intelligence and wealth. The third 
was that of the ultra Democrats or Jacobins, 
who wished to raise the multitude from degra- 
dation, penury, and infamy, into power, by 
the destruction of the throne, and the subjec- 
tion of the middling classes, and the entire sub- 
version of all the distinctions of wealth and 
rank. The approach of the allies united both 
of these latter classes against the throne. A 
motion was immediately introduced into the 
assembly that the monarchy be entirely abol- 
ished, and a mob rioting through Paris threat- 
ened the deputies with death unless they de- 
throned the king. But an army of one hun- 
dred and fifty thousand men were marching 
upon Paris, and the deputies feared a terrible 
retribution if this new insult were heaped upon 
their sovereign. No person can describe the 
confusion and consternation with which the 
metropolis of France was filled. The mob 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 185 

declared, on the 9th of August, that, unless 
the dethronement were that day pronounced, 
they would that night sack the palace, and 
bear the heads of the royal family through the 
streets upon their pikes. The assemby, unde- 
cided, and trembing between the two opposing 
perils, separated without the adoption of any 
resolve. All knew that a night of dreadful 
tumult and violence must ensue. Some hun- 
dreds of gentlemen collected around the king 
and queen, resolved to perish with them. 
Several regiments of soldiers were placed in 
and around the palace to drive back the mob, 
but it was well known that the troops would 
more willingly fraternize with the multitude 
than oppose them. The sun went down, and 
the street lamps feebly glimmered through the 
darkness of the night. The palace was filled 
with armed men. The gentlemen surrounding 
the king were all conscious of their utter in- 
ability to protect him. They had come but to 
share the fate of their sovereign. The queen 
and the Princess Elizabeth ascended to an 
upper part of the palace, and stepped from a 
low window into the dark shadow of a balcony 
to look out upon the tumultuous city. The 
sound, as of the gathering of a resistless storm, 
swept through all the streets, and rose loud 
and threatening above the usual roar of the 
vast metropolis. The solemn tones of the 
alarm bells, pealing through the night air, 



186, MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

summoned all the desperadoes of France to 
their several places of rendezvous, to march 
upon the palace. The rumbling of artillery 
wheels, and the frequent discharge of mus- 
ketry, proclaimed the determination and the 
desperation of the intoxicated mob. In dark- 
ness and silence, the queen and her sister 
stood listening to these fearful sounds, and 
their hearts throbbed violently in view of the 
terrible scene through which they knew that 
they must pass. The queen, pale but tearless, 
and nerved to the utmost by queenly pride, 
descended to the rooms below. She walked into 
the chamber where her beautiful son was 
sleeping, gazed earnestly upon him for a 
moment, bent over him, and imprinted upon 
his cheek a mother's kiss — and yet without a 
tear. She entered the apartment of her daugh- 
ter — lovely, surpassingly lovely in all the 
blooming beauty of fifteen. The princess, 
comprehending the peril of the hour, could 
not sleep. Maria pressed her child to her 
throbbing heart, and the pride of the queen 
was soon vanquished by the tenderness of the 
mother, as with convulsive energy she embraced 
her, and wept in anguish almost unendurable. 
Shouts of unfeeling derision arose from the 
troops below, stationed for the protection of 
the royal family, and their ears were assailed 
by remarks of the most brutal barbarity. 
Hour after hour of the night lingered along, 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 187 

the clamor without incessantly increasing, and 
the crowds surrounding the palace augmenting. 
The excitement within the palace was so awful 
that no words could give it utterance. The 
few hundred gentlemen who had come so hero- 
ically to share the fate of their sovereign were 
aware that no resistance could be made to the 
tens of thousands who were thirsting for their 
blood. 

Midnight came. It was fraught with hor- 
ror. The queen, in utter exhaustion, threw 
herself upon a sofa. At that moment a mus- 
ket shot was fired in the courtyard. ** There 
is the first shot," said the queen, with the 
calmness of despair, '* but it will not be the last. 
Let us go and be with the king." At length, 
from the windows of their apartment, a few- 
gleams of light began to redden the eastern sky. 
"Come," said the Princess Elizabeth, ** and see 
the rising sun." Maria went mournfully to 
the window, gazed long and steadfastly upon 
the rising luminary, feeling that, before that 
day's sun should go down, she and all whom 
she loved would be in another world. It was 
an awful spectacle which the light of day re- 
vealed. All the avenues to the palace were 
choked with intoxicated thousands. The gar- 
dens, and the courtyard surrounding the 
palace, were filled with troops, placed there 
for the protection of the sovereign, but evi- 
dently sympathizing with the mob, with whom 



188 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

they exchanged badges and friendly greetings. 
The queen, apprehensive that the children 
might be massacred in their beds, had them 
dressed, and placed by the side of herself and 
the king. It was recommended to the king 
that he should go down into the courtyard, 
among the troops stationed there for his de- 
fense ; that his presence might possibly awaken 
sympathy and enthusiasm in his behalf. The 
king and queen, with their son and daughter, 
and Madame Elizabeth, went down with throb- 
bing hearts to visit the ranks of their defenders. 
They were received with derisive insults and 
hootings. Some of the gunners left their 
posts, and thrust their fists into the face of the 
king, insulting him with menaces the most 
brutal. They instantly returned to the palace, 
pallid with indignation and despair. 

Soon an officer came in and informed the 
king that all resistance was hopeless; that six 
pieces of artillery were already pointed against 
the main door of the palace; that a mob of 
countless thousands, well armed, and dragging 
with them twelve heavy cannon, were rapidly 
approaching the scene of conflict; that the 
whole populace of Paris were up in arms 
against the king, and that no reliance whatever 
could be placed in the soldiers stationed for his 
defense. * 'There is not, " said he, "a single 
moment to lose. You will all inevitably and 
immediately perish, unless you hasten to the 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 189 

hall where the assembly is in session, and place 
yourself under the protection of that body." 
The pride of the queen was intensely aroused 
in view of appealing to the assembly, their 
bitterest enemy, for succor, and she indig- 
nantly replied : **I would rather be nailed to 
the walls of the palace than leave it to take 
refuge in the assembly." And the heroism of 
Maria Theresa instinctively inspiring her 
bosom she seized, from the belt of an officer, 
two pistols, and, presenting them to the king, 
exclaimed: **Now, sire, is the time to show 
yourself, and if we must perish, let us perish 
with glory." The king calmly received the 
pistols, and silently handed them back to the 
officer. 

**Madame, " said the messenger, *' are you 
prepared to take upon yourself the responsi- 
bility of the death of the king, of yourself, of 
your children, and of all who are here to de- 
fend you? All Paris is on the march. Time 
presses. In a few moments it will be too 
late." The queen cast a glance upon her 
daughter, and a mother's fears prevailed. The 
crimson blood mounted to her temples. Then, 
again, she was pale as a corpse. Then, rising 
from her seat, she said: *'Letus go." It was 
7 o'clock in the morning. 

The king and queen, with their two child- 
ren, Madame Elizabeth, and a few personal 
frieads, descended the great staircase of the 



190 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Tuileries, to pass out through the bands of sol- 
diers and the tumultuous mob to the hall of the 
assembly. At the staircase there was a large 
concourse of men and women, gesticulating 
with fury, who refused to permit the royal 
family to depart. The tumult was such that 
the members of the royal family were separ- 
ated from each other; and thus they stood for 
a moment mingled with the crowd, listening 
to language of menace and insult, when a 
deputy assured the mob that an order of the 
assembly had summoned the royal family to 
them. The rioters then gave way, and the 
mournful group passed out of the door into the 
garden. They forced their way along, sur- 
rounded by a few friends, through impreca- 
tions, insults, gleaming daggers, and dangers 
innumerable, until they arrived at the hall of 
the assembly, which the king was with diffi- 
culty enabled to enter, in consequence of the 
immense concourse which crowded him, thirst- 
ing for his blood, and yet held back by an un- 
seen hand. As the king entered the hall, he 
said, with dignity, to the president: **I have 
come here to save the nation from the commis- 
sion of a great crime. I shall always con- 
sider myself, with my family, safe in your 
hands." The royal family sat down upon a 
bench. Mournful silence pervaded the hall. 
A more sorrowful, heart-rending sight mortal 
eyes have seldom seen. The father, the 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 191 

mother, the saint-like sister, the innocent and 
helpless children, had found but a momentary 
refnge from cannibals, who were roaring like 
wolves around the hall, and battering at the 
doors to break in and slake their vengeance 
with blood. It was seriously apprehended 
that the mob would make a rush, and sprinkle 
the blood of the royal family upon the very 
floor of the sanctuary where they had sought 
a refuge. 

Behind the seat of the president there was a 
box about ten feet square, constituting a seat 
reserved for reporters, guarded by an iron 
railing. Into this box the royal family were 
crowded for safety. -A few friends of the king 
gathered around the box. The heat of the 
day was almost insupportable. Not a breath 
of air could penetrate the closely -packed 
apartment; and the heat, as of a furnace, 
glowed in the room. Scarcely had the royal 
family got into this frail retreat, when the 
noise without informed them that their friends 
were falling before the daggers of assassins, 
and the greatest alarm was felt lest the doors 
should be driven in by the merciless mob. In 
this awful hour, the king appeared as calm, 
serene, and unconcerned as if he were the 
spectator of a scene in which he had no in- 
terest. The countenance of the queen exhibited 
all the unvanquished firmness of her soul, as 
with flushed cheek and indignant eye she 



192 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

looked upon the drama of terror and confusion 
which was passing. The young princess wept, 
and her cheeks were marked with the furrows 
which her tears, dried by the heat, had left. 
The young dauphin appeared as cool and self- 
possessed as his father. The rattling fire of 
artillery, and the report of musketry at the 
palace, proclaimed to the royal family and the 
affrighted deputies the horrid conflict, or, rather, 
massacre which was raging there. Imme- 
diately after the king and queen had left the 
Tuileries, the mob broke in at every avenue. 
A few hundred Swiss soldiers left there re- 
mained faithful to the king. The conflict was 
short — the massacre awful. The infuriated 
multitude rushed through the halls and the 
apartments of the spacious palace, murdering, 
without mercy and without distinction of age 
or sex, all the friends of the king whom they 
encountered. The mutilated bodies were 
thrown out of the windows to the mob which 
filled the garden and the court. The wretched 
inmates of the palace fled, pursued in every 
direction. But concealment and escape were 
alike hopeless. Some poor creatures leaped 
from the windows and clambered up the marble 
monuments. The wretches refrained from 
firing at them, lest they should injure the 
statuary, but pricked them with their bayonets 
till they compelled them to drop down, and 
then murdered them at their feet. A pack of 




Maria Antoinette 



The Execution of Louis XVL (Seep. 222.) 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 193 

wolves could not have been more merciless. 
The populace, now rioting in their resistless 
power, with no law and no authority to re- 
strain them, gave loose rein to vengeance, and, 
having glutted themselves with blood, pro- 
ceeded to sack the palace. Its magnificent 
furniture, and splendid mirrors, and costly 
paintings, were dashed to pieces and thrown 
from the windows, when the fragments were 
eagerly caught by those below and piled up for 
bonfires. Drunken wretches staggered through 
all the most private apartments, threw them- 
selves, with blood-soaked boots, upon the bed 
of the queen, ransacked her drawers, made 
themselves merry over her notes, and letters, 
and the various articles of her toilet, and pol- 
luted the very air of the palace by their vulgar 
and obscene ribaldry. As night approached, 
huge fires were built, upon which the dead 
bodies of the massacred Koyalists were thrown, 
and all were consumed. 

During all the long hours of that dreadful 
day, and until 2 o'clock the ensuing night, 
the royal family remained, almost without a 
change of posture, in the narrow seat which 
had served them for an asylum. Who can 
measure the amount of their endurance during 
these fifteen hours of woe? An act was passed, 
during this time, in obedience to the demands 
of the mob, dethroning the king. The hour 
of midnight had now come and gone, and still 



194 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the royal sufferers were in their comfortless 
imprisonment, half-dead with excitement and 
exhaustion. The young dauphin had fallen 
asleep in his mother's arms. Madame Eliza- 
beth and the princess, entirely unnerved, were 
sobbing with uncontrollable grief. The royal 
family were then transferred, for the remainder 
of the night, to some deserted and unfurnished 
rooms in the old monastery of the Feuillants. 
Some beds and mattresses were hastily col- 
lected, and a few coarse chairs for their accom- 
modation. As soon as they had entered these 
cheerless rooms, and were alone, the king 
prostrated himself upon his knees, with his 
family clinging around him, and gave utterance 
to the prayer: ''Thy trials, O God! are dread- 
ful. Give us courage to bear them. We 
adore the hand which chastens, as that which 
has so often blessed us. Have mercy on those 
who have died fighting in our defense." 

"Utter exhaustion enabled the unhappy family 
to find a few hours of agitated sleep. The 
sun arose the ensuing morning with burning 
rays, and as they fell upon the eyelids of the 
queen, she looked wildly around her for a 
moment upon the cheerless scene, and then, 
with a shudder, exclaiming: **0h! I hoped 
it was all a dream," buried her face again in 
her pillow. The attendants around her burst 
into tears. '*You see, my unhappy friends," 
said Maria, ''a woman even more unhappy 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 19^ 

than yourselves, for she has caused all your 
misfortunes." The queen wept bitterly as 
she was informed of the massacre of her friends 
the preceding day. Already the royal family 
felt the pressure of poverty. They were penni- 
less, and had to borrow some garments for the 
children. The king and queen could make no 
change in their disordered dress. 

At 10 o'clock in the morning, a guard came 
and conducted the royal family again to the 
assembly. Immediately the hall was sur- 
rounded by a riotous mob, clamoring for their 
blood. At one moment the outer doors were 
burst open, and the blood-thirsty wretches 
made a rush for the interior. The king, be- 
lieving that their final hour had come, begged 
his friends to seek their own safety, and aban- 
don him and his family to their fate. The day 
of agitation and terror, however, passed away, 
and, as the gloom of night again darkened the 
city, the illustrious sufferers were reconveyed 
to the Feuillants. All their friends were driven 
from them, and guards were placed over them, 
who, by rudeness and insults, did what they 
could to add bitterness to their captivity. 

It was decided by the assembly that they 
should all be removed to the prison of the 
temple. At 3 o'clock the next day two car- 
riages were brought to the door, and the royal 
family were conveyed through the thronged 
streets and by the most popular thoroughfares 



196 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

to the prisoD. The eoeniies of royalty ap- 
peared to court the ostentatious display of its 
degradation. As the carriages were slowly 
dragged along, an immense concourse of spec- 
tators lined the way, and insults and derision 
were heaped upon them at every step. At 
last, after two hours, in which they were con- 
strained to drain the cup of ignominy to its 
dregs, the carriages rolled under the gloomy 
arches of the temple, and their prison doors 
were closed against them. 

In the meantime the allied army was advanc- 
ing with rapid strides toward the city. The 
most dreadful consternation reigned in the 
metropolis. The populace rose in its rage to 
massacre all suspected of being in favor of 
royalty. The prisons were crowded with the 
victims of suspicion. The rage of the mob 
would not wait for trial. The j^rison doors 
were burst open, and a general and awful mas- 
sacre ensued. There was no mercy shown to 
the innocence of youth or to female helpless- 
ness. The streets of Paris were red with the 
blood ®f its purest citizens, and the spirit of 
murder, with unrestrained license, glutted its 
vengeance. In one awful day and night many 
thousands perished. The walls of rock and 
iron of the temple alone protected the royal 
fasaily from a similar fate. 

The temple was a dismal fortress which 
stood in the heart of Paris, a gloomy memorial 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 197 

of past ages of violence and crime. It was 
situated not far from the Bastile, and inclosed 
within its dilapidated yet massive walls a vast 
space of silence and desolation. In former 
ages cowled monks had moved with noiseless 
tread through its spacious corridors, and their 
matins and vespers had vibrated along the 
stone arches of this melancholy pile. But now 
weeds choked its courtyard, and no sounds 
were heard in its deserted apartments but the 
shrieking of the wind as it rushed through the 
grated windows and whistled around the angles 
of the towers. The shades of night were add- 
ing to the gloom of this wretched abode as the 
captives were led into its deserted and unfur- 
nished cells. It was after midnight before the 
rooms for their imprisonment were assigned to 
them. It was a night of Egyptian darkness. 
Soldiers with drawn swords guarded them, as, 
by the light of a lantern, they picked their 
way through the rank weeds of the castle gar- 
den, and over piles of rubbish, to a stone 
tower, some thirty feet square and sixty feet 
high, to whose damp, cheerless, and dismal 
apartments they were consigned. "Where are 
you conducting us?" inquired a faithful ser- 
vant who had followed the fortunes of his 
royal master. The officer replied : "Thy mas- 
ter has been used to gilded roofs, but now he 
will see how the assassins of the people are 
lodged." 



198 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Madame Elizabeth was placed in a kind of 
kitchen, or washroom, with a truckle bed in 
it, on the ground floor. The second floor of 
the tower was assigned to the attendants of 
the household. One common wooden bedstead 
and a few old chairs were the only furniture of 
the room. The third floor was assigned to 
the king, and queen, and the two children. A 
footman had formerly slept in the room, and 
had left suspended upon the walls some coarse 
and vulgar prints. The king, immediately 
glancing at them, took them down and turned 
their faces to the wall, exclaiming: '*I would 
not have my daughter see such things." The 
king and the children soon fell soundly asleep ; 
but no repose came to the agitated mind of 
Maria Antoinette. Her lofty and unbending 
spirit felt these indignities and atrocities too 
keenly. She spent the night in silent tears, 
and indulging in the most gloomy forebodings 
of the fate which yet awaited them. 

The morning sun arose, but to show still 
more clearly the dismal aspect of the prison. 
But few rays could penetrate the narrow win- 
dows of the tower, and blinds of oaken plank 
were so constructed that the inmates could 
only look out upon the sky. A very humble 
breakfast was provided for them, and then 
they began to look about to see what resources 
their prison afforded to beguile the weary 
hours. A few books were found, such as an 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 199 

odd volume of Horace, and a few volumes of 
devotional treatises, which had long been 
slumbering, moth-eaten, in these deserted 
cells, where, in ages that were past, monks had 
performed their severe devotions. The king 
immediately systematized the hours, and sat 
down to the regular employment of teaching 
his children. The son and the daughter, with 
minds prematurely developed by the agitations 
and excitements in the midst of which they had 
been cradled, clung to their parents with the 
most tender affection, and mitigated the hor- 
rors of their captivity by manifesting the most 
engaging sweetness of disposition, and by 
prosecuting their studies with untiring vigor. 
The queen and Madame Elizabeth employed 
themselves with their needles. They break- 
fasted at 9 o'clock, and then devoted the fore- 
noon to reading and study. At 1 o'clock they 
were permitted to walk for an hour, for exer- 
cise, in the courtyard of the prison, which 
had long been consigned to the dominion of 
rubbish and weeds. But in these walks they 
were daily exposed to the most cruel insults 
from the guards that were stationed over them. 
At 2 o'clock they dined. During the long 
hours of the evening the king Tead aloud. At 
night, the queen prepared the children for 
bed, and heard them repeat their prayers. 
Every day, however, more severe restrictions 
were imposed upon the captives. They were 



200 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

soon deprived of pens and paper; and then 
scissors, knives, and even needles were taken 
away, under the pretense that they might be 
the instruments of suicide. They were al- 
lowed no communication of any kind with 
their friends without, and were debarred from 
all acquaintance with anything transpiring in 
the world. In that gloomy tower of stone and 
iron they were buried. A faithful servant, 
however, adroitly opened communication with 
a newsboy, who, under the pretense of selling 
the daily papers, recounted under their prison 
windows, in as loud a voice as he could, the 
leading articles of the journals he had for sale. 
The servant listened at the window with the 
utmost care, and then privately communicated 
the information to the king and queen. 

The fate of the Princess Lamballe, who 
perished at this time, is highly illustrative of 
the horrors in the midst of which all the Eoyal- 
ists lived. This lovely woman, left a widow 
at eighteen, was attracted to the queen by her 
misfortunes, and became her most intimate 
and devoted friend. She lodged in an apart- 
ment adjoining to the queen's, that she might 
share all her perils. Occasionally the prin- 
cess was absent to watch over and cheer an 
aged friend, the Duke de Penthievre, her 
father-in-law, who resided at the Chateau de 
Ternon. She had gone a short time before 
the 20th of June to visit the aged duke, and 




Maria Antoinette 



Maria Antoinette I.eaving the Tribunal. {See p 231.) 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 201 

Maria Antoinette, who foresaw the terrible 
storm about to burst upon them, wrote the fol- 
lowing touching letter to her friend, urging 
her not to return to the sufferings and dangers 
of the Tuileries. The letter was found in the 
hair of the Princess de Lamballe after hey 
assassination. 

*'Do not leave Vernon, my dear Lamballe, 
before you are perfectly recovered. The good 
Duke de Penthievre would be sorry and dis- 
tressed, and we must all take care of his ad- 
vanced age and respect his virtues. I have so 
often told you to take heed of yourself, that, 
if you love me, you must think of yourself; 
we shall require all of our strength in the 
times in which we live. Oh ! do not return, 
or return as late as possible. Your heart 
would be too deeply wounded ; you would have 
too many tears to shed over my misfortunes — 
you, who loved me so tenderly. This race of 
tigers which infests the kingdom would cruelly 
enjoy itself if it knew all the sufferings we 
undergo. Adieu, my dear Lamballe; I am 
always thinking of you, and you know I never 
change. ' ' 

The princess, notwithstanding this advice, 
hastened to join her friend and to share her 
fate. She stood by the side of the queen dur- 
ing the sleeplessness of the night preceding the 



302 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

20th of June, and clung to her during all those 
long and terrific hours in which the mob filled 
her apartment with language of obscenity, 
menace, and rage. She accompanied the royal 
family to the assembly, shared with them the 
cheerless night in the old monastery of the 
Feuillants, and followed them to the gloomy 
prison of the temple. The stern decree of the 
assembly, depriving the royal family of the 
presence of any of their friends, excluded the 
princess from the prison. She still, however, 
lived but to weep over the sorrows of those 
whom she so tenderly loved. 

She was soon arrested as a Loyalist, and 
plunged, like the vilest criminal, into the 
prison of La Force. For the crime of loving 
the king and queen she was summoned to ap- 
pear before the Revolutionary tribunal. The 
officers found her lying upon her pallet in the 
prison, surrounded by other wretched victims 
of lawless violence, scarcely able to raise her 
head from her pillow. She entreated them to 
leave her to die where she was. One of the 
officers leaned over her bed, and whispered to 
her that they were her friends, and that her 
life depended upon her entire compliance with 
their directions. She immediately arose and 
accompanied the guard down the prison stairs 
to the door. There two brutal-looking 
wretches, covered with blood, stood waiting to 
receive her. As they grasped her arms, she 



iMi'RISONMENT IN TME TEMPLE. ^Oi 

fainted. It was long before she recovered. 
As soon as she revived she was led before the 
judges. *' Swear," said one of them, "that 
you love liberty and equality ; and swear that 
you hate all kings and queens. 

"I am willing to swear the first," she re- 
plied, **but as to hatred of kings and queens, 
I cannot swear it, for it is not in my heart. 
Another judge, moved with pity by her youth 
and innocence, bent over her and whispered : 
**Swear anything, or you are lost." She still 
remained silent. "Well," said one, "you 
may go, but when you get into the street, 
shout Vive la nation!' ' The courtyard was 
filled with assassins, who cut down, with pikes 
and bludgeons, the condemned as they were 
.led out from the court, and the mutilated and 
gory bodies of the slain were strewn over the 
pavement. Two soldiers took her by the arm 
to lead her out. As she passed from the door, 
the dreadful sight froze her heart with terror, 
and she exclaimed, forgetful of the peril: 
* ' O God ! how horrible ! ' ' One of the soldiers, 
by a friendly impulse, immediately covered 
her mouth with his hand, that her exclamations 
might not be heard. She was led into the 
street, filled with assassins thirsting for the 
blood of the Royalists, and had advanced but 
a few steps, when a journeyman barber, stag- 
gering with intoxication and infuriated with 
carnage, endeavored, in a kind of brutal jest- 



204 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

ing, to strike her cap from her head with his 
long pike. The blow fell upon her forehead, 
cutting a deep gash, and the blood gushed out 
over her face. The assassins around, deeming 
this the signal for their onset, fell upon her. 
A blow from a bludgeon laid her dead upon 
the pavement. One, seizing her by the hair, 
with a saber cut off her head. Others tore her 
garments from her graceful limbs, and, cutting 
her body into fragments, paraded the mutt- 
lated remains upon their pikes through the 
streets. The dissevered head they bore into an 
alehouse, and drank and danced around the 
ghastly trophy in horrid carousal. The riot- 
ing multitude then, in the frenzy of intoxi- 
cation, swarmed through the streets to the 
temple, to torture the king and queen with the 
dreadful spectacle. The king, hearing the 
shoutings and tumultuous laughter of the 
mob, went to the window, and recognized, in 
the gory head thrust up to him upon the point 
of a pike, the features of his much-loved 
friend. He immediately led the queen to 
another part of the room, that she might be 
shielded from the dreadful spectacle. 

Such were the flashes of terror which were 
aver gleaming through the bars of their win- 
dows. The horrors of each passing moment 
were magnified by the apprehension of still 
more dreadful evils to come. There was, how- 
ever, one consolation yet left them. They 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 205 

were permitted to cling together. Locked in 
each others' arms, they could bow in prayer, 
and by sympathy and love sustain their fainting 
hearts. It was soon, however, thought that 
these indulgences were too great for dethroned 
royalty to enjoy. But a few days of their 
captivity had passed away, when, at midnight, 
they were aroused by an unusual uproar, and 
a band of brutal soldiers came clattering into 
their room with lanterns, and, in the most 
harsh and insulting manner, commanded the 
immediate expulsion of all the servants and 
attendants of the royal family. Expostula- 
tion and entreaty were alike unavailing. The 
captives were stripped of all their friends, and 
passed the remainder of the night in sleepless- 
ness and in despair. With the light of the 
morning they endeavored to nerve themselves 
to bear with patience this new trial. The 
king performed the part of a nurse in aiding 
to wash and dress the children. For the 
health of the children, they went into the 
courtyard of the prison before dinner for ex- 
ercise and the fresh air. A soldier, stationed 
there to guard them, came up deliberately to 
the queen, and amused his companions by 
puffing tobacco smoke from his pipe into her 
face. The parents read upon the walls the 
names of their children, described as '* whelps 
who ought to be strangled." 

Sis weeks of this almost unendurable agony 



206 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

passed away, when, one night, as the unhappy 
captives were clustered together, finding in 
their mutual and increasing affection a solace 
for all their woes, six nauncipial officers entered 
the tower, and read a decree ordering the en- 
tire separation of the king from the rest of his 
family. No language can express the conster- 
nation of the sufferers in view of this cruel 
measure. Without mercy, the officers imme- 
diately executed the barbarous command, by 
tearing the king from the embraces of his 
agonized wife and his grief-distracted chil- 
dren. The king, overwhelmed with anguish in 
view of the sufferings which his wife and 
children must endure, most earnestly implored 
them not to separate him from his family. 
They were inflexible, and, hardly allowing the 
royal family one moment for their parting 
adieus, hurried the king away. It was the 
dark hour of a gloomy night. The few rays 
of light from the lanterns guided them through 
narrow passages, and over piles of rubbish to 
a distant angle of the huge and dilapidated 
fortress, where they thrust the king into an 
unfurnished cell, and, locking the door upon 
him, they left him with one tallow candle to 
make visible the gloom and the solitude. 
There was, in one corner, a miserable pallet, 
and heaps of moldering bricks and mortar were 
scattered over the damp floor. The king 
threw himself, in utter despair, upon this 



IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE. 207 

wretched bed, and counted, till the morning 
dawned, the steps of the sentinel pacing to and 
fro before his door. At length a small piece 
of bread and a bottle of water were brought 
him for his breakfast. 

The anguish of the queen in the endurance 
of this most cruel separation was apparently 
as deep as human nature could experience. 
Her woe amounted to delirium. Pale and 
haggard, she walked to and fro, beseeching 
her jailers that they would restore to her and 
to her children the husband and the father. 
Her pathetic entreaties touched even their 
hearts of stone. *'I do believe," said one of 
them, **that these infernal women will make 
even me weep." After some time, they con- 
sented that the king should occasionally be 
permitted to partake his meals with his family, 
a guard being always present to hear whe-t they 
should say. Immediately after the meal, he 
was to be taken back to his solitary imprison- 
ment. 

Such was the condition of the royal family 
during a period of about four months, varied 
by the capricious mercy or cruelty of the 
different persons who were placed as guards 
over them. Their clothes became soiled, 
threadbare, and tattered; and they were de- 
prived of all means of repairing their gar- 
ments, lest they should convert needles and 
scissors into instruments of suicide. The 



208 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

king was not allowed the use of a razor to re- 
move his beard ; and the luxury of a barber to 
perform that essential part of his toilet was an 
expense which his foes could not incur. It 
was the studied endeavor of those who now 



Maria Antoinette in Prison. 

rode upon the crested yet perilous billows of 
power to degrade royalty to the lowest depths 
of debasement and contempt — that the behead- 
ing of the king and the queen might be re- 
garded as merely the execution of a male and a 
female felon dragged from the loathsome dun- 
geons of crime. 











CHAPTEK X. 

EXECUTION OF THE KENG. 

On the 11th of December, 1792, just four 
months after the royal family had been con- 
signed to the temple, as the captives were tak- 
ing their breakfast, a great noise of the roll- 
ing of drums, the neighing of horses, and the 
tramp of a numerous multitude was heard 
around the prison walls ; soon some one en- 
tered, and informed the king that these were 
the preparations which were making to escort 
him to his trial. The king knew perfectly 
well that this was the step which preceded his 
execution, and, as he thought of the awful 
situation of his family, he threw himself into 
his chair and buried his face in his hands, 
and for two hours remained in that attitude 
immovable. He was roused from his painful 
reverie by the entrance of the officers to con- 
duct him to the bar of his judges, from whom 
he was aware he could expect no mercy. *'I 
follow you," said the king, '*not in obedience 
to the orders of the convention, but because 
my enemies are the more powerful.'* He put 
on his brown greatcoat and hat, and, silently 

16— Antoinette " 



210 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

descending the stairs to the door of the tower, 
entered a carriage which was there awaiting 
him. As he had long been deprived of his 
razors, his chin and cheeks were covered with 
masses of hair. His garments hung loosely 
around his emaciated frame, and all dignity of 
aspect was lost in the degraded condition to 
which designing cruelty had reduced him. 
The captive monarch was escorted through the 
streets by regiments of cavalry, infantry, and 
artillery; every man furnished with fifteen 
rounds of ammunition to repel any attempts at 
a rescue. A countless throng of people lined 
the streets through which the illustrious pris- 
oner was conveyed. The multitude gazed upon 
the melancholy procession in profound silence. 
He soon stood before the bar of the convention. 
*' Louis," said the president, "the French 
nation accuses you. You are about to hear 
the charges which are to be preferred. Louis, 
be seated." The king listened with perfect 
tranquillity and self-possession to a long cata- 
logue of accusations, in which his efforts to 
sustain the falling monarchy, and his exertions 
to protect himself and family from insults and 
death, were construed into crimes against the 
nation. 

The examination of the king was long, mi- 
nute, and was conducted by those who were im- 
patient for his blood. At its close, the king, 
perfectly exhausted by mental excitement and 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 211 

the want of refreshment, was led back into the 
waiting room of the convention. He was 
scarcely able to stand for faintness. He saw 
a soldier eating a piece of bread. He ap- 
proached, and, in a whisper, begged him for a 
piece, and ate it. Here was the monarch of 
thirty millions of people, in the heart of his 
proud capital, and with all his palaces around 
him, actually begging bread of a poor soldier. 
The king was again placed in the carriage, and 
conveyed back to his prison in the temple. 
As the cortege passed slowly by the palace of 
the Tuileries, the scene of all his former gran- 
deur and happiness, the king gazed long and 
sadly on the majestic pile so lost in thought 
that he heeded not, and apparently heard not, 
the insulting cries which were resounding 
around him. As the king entered the temple, 
he raised his eyes most wistfully to the queen's 
apartment ; but the windows were so barred 
that no glances could be interchanged. The 
king was conducted to his apartment, and was 
informed that he could no longer be permitted 
to hold any communication whatever with the 
other members of his family. He contrived, 
however, by means of a tangle of thread, in 
which was inclosed a piece of paper, perforated 
by a needle, to get a note to the queen, and to 
receive a few words in return. He, however, 
felt that his doom was sealed, and began from 
that hour to look forward to his immortality. 



212 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

He made his will, in which he spoke in most 
affecting terms of his wife, and his children, 
and his enemies, commending them all to the 
protection of God. 

An indescribable gloom now reigned through- 
out Paris. The allied armies on the frontiers 
were gradually advancing. The French troops 
were defeated. It was feared that the Eoyal- 
ists would rise, and join the invaders, and res- 
cue the king. Desperadoes rioted through the 
streets, clamoring for the blood of their mon- 
arch. "With knives and bludgeons they sur- 
rounded the convention, threatening the lives 
of all if they did not consign the king to the 
guillotine. The day for the final decision came 
— Shall the king live or die? On that day the 
heart of the metropolis throbbed as never be- 
fore. It was the 20th of January, 1793. The 
convention had already been in uninterrupted 
session for fifteen hours. The clamor of the 
tumultuous and threatening mob gave portent- 
ous warning of the doom which awaited the 
members of the assembly should they dare to 
spare the life of the king. One by one the 
deputies mounted the tribune as their names 
were called in alphabetical order, and gave 
their vote. For some time death and exile 
seemed equally balanced. The results of the 
vote were read. The convention comprised 
seven hundred and twenty-one voters, three 
hundred and thirty-four of whom voted for 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 213 

exile, and three hundred and eighty-seven for 
death. 

Louis sat alone in his prison, calmly await- 
ing the decision. He laid down that night, 
knowing that his doom was sealed, and yet not 
knowing what that doom was. Malesherbes, 
the venerable friend who had volunteered for 
his defense, came to communicate the mourn- 
ful tidings. He fell at the king's feet so 
overcome with emotion that he could not speak. 
The king understood the language of his si- 
lence and his tears, and uttered himself the 
sentence, * 'Death. ** But a few moments 
elapsed before the officers of the convention 
came, in all the pomp and parade of the land, 
to communicate to the king his doom to the 
guillotine in twenty -four hours. With perfect 
calmness, and fixing his eye immovably upon 
his judges he heard the reading of the sen- 
tence. The reading concluded, the king pre- 
sented a paper to the deputies, which he first 
read to them in the clear and commanding 
tones of a monarch upon his throne, demand- 
ing a respite of three days, in order to prepare 
to appear before God ; also permission to see 
his family, and to converse with a priest. The 
convention, angry at these requests, informed 
the king that he might see any priest he 
pleased, and that he might see his family, but 
that the execution must take place in twenty- 
four hours from the time of the sentence. 



^14 MARIA ANTOlNETTiE. 

Darkness had again fallen upon the city, when 
the minister of religion, M. Edgeworth, was 
led through the gloomy streets, to administer 
the consolations of piety to the condemned 
monarch. As he entered the apartment of the 
king, he fell at his feet and burst into tears. 
Louis for a moment wept, when, recovering 
himself, he said: "Pardon me this momentary 
weakness. I have so long lived among ene- 
mies, that habit has rendered me insensible to 
hatred. The sight of a faithful friend restores 
my sensibility, and moves me to tears in spite 
of myself. " A long conversation ensued, in 
which the king inquired, with the greatest in- 
terest, respecting the fate of his numerous 
friends. He read his will with the utmost de- 
liberation, his voice faltering only when he 
alluded to his wife, children, and sister. At 
7 o'clock he was to have his last agonizing in- 
terview with his beloved family, and the 
thought of this agitated him far more than the 
prospect of the scaffold. 

The hour for the last sad meeting arrived. 
The king, having prepared his heart by prayer 
for the occasion, descended into a small un- 
furnished room, where he was to meet his 
family. The door opened. The queen, lead- 
ing his son, and Madame Elizabath, leading 
his daughter, with trembling, fainting steps, 
entered the room. Not a word was uttered. 
The king threw himself upon a bench, drew 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 216 

the queen to his right side, his sister to the 
left, and their arms encircled his neck, and 
their heads hung upon his breast. The son 
climbed upon his father's knee, clinging with 
his arms frantically to his bosom ; and the 
daughter, throwing herself at his feet, buried 
her head in his lap, her beautiful hair, in dis- 
ordered ringlets, falling over her shoulders. 
A long half-hour thus passed, in which not one 
single articulate word was spoken, but the an- 
guish of these united hearts was expressed in 
cries and lamentations which pierced through 
the stone walls of their prison, and were heard 
by passers-by in the streets. But human 
nature could not long endure this intensity of 
agony. Total exhaustion ensued. Their tears 
dried upon their cheeks; embraces, kisses, 
whispers of tenderness and love, and woe en- 
sued, which lasted for two hours. 

The king then clasped them each in a long 
embrace, pressing his lips to their cheeks, and 
prepared to retire. Clinging to each other in 
an inseparable group, thej* approached the 
staircase which the king was to ascend, when 
their piercing, heart-rending cries were re- 
newed. The king, summoning all his forti- 
tude to his aid, tore himself from them, and, 
in most tender accents, cried " Adieu ! adieu ! " 
hastily ascended the stairs and disappeared, 
having partially promised that he would see 
tbem again in the morning. The princess 



216 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

royal fell fainting upon the floor, and was 
borne insensible to her room. The king, 
reaching his apartment, threw himself into a 
chair, and exclaimed: ''What an interview I 
Lave had ! Why do I love so fondly ? Alas ! 
why am I so fondly loved? But we have now 
done with time, let us occupy ourselves with 
eternity.'* 

The hour of midnight had now arrived. 
The king threw himself upon his bed, and slept 
as calmly, as peacefully, as though he had 
never krown a sorrow. At 5 o'clock he was 
awakened, and received the sacrament of the 
Lord's Supper. Then, taking a small parcel 
from his bosom, and removing his wedding 
ring from his finger, he said to an attendant: 
** After my death, I wish you to give this seal 
to my son, this ring to the queen. Say to the 
queen, my dear children, and my sister, that 
I had promised to see them this morning, but 
that I desired to spare them the agony of this 
bitter separation twice over. How much it 
Las cost me to part without receiving their 
last embraces!" Here his utterance was im- 
peded by sobs. He then called for some 
scissors, that he might cut off locks of hair 
for his family. As he soon after stood by the 
stove, warming himself, he exclaimed : "How 
Lappy am I that I maintained my Christian 
faith while on the throne I What would have 
been my condition now, were it not for this 




Maria Antomett 



Maria Antoinette Summoned to Execution. {Seep. ^.J^. j 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 217 

hope!'* Soon faint gleams of the light of day 
began to penetrate through the iron bars and 
planks which guarded his windows. It was 
the signal for the beating of drums, the tramp 
of armed men, the rolling of heavy carrages of 
artillery, and the clattering of horses' hoofs. 
As the escort were arriving at their stations in 
the courtyard of the temple, a great noise was 
heard upon the staircase. ''They have come 
for me," said the king; and, rising with per- 
fect calmness and without a tremor, he opened 
the door. It was a false summons. Again 
and again, under various pretexts, the door 
was opened, until 9 o'clock, when a tumultuous 
noise upon the staircase announced the ap- 
proach of a body of armed men. Twelve 
municipal officers and twelve soldiers entered 
the apartment. The soldiers formed in two 
lines. The king, with a serene air, placed him- 
self between the double lines, and, looking to 
one of the municipal officers, said, presenting 
to him a roll of paper, which was his last will 
and testament, '*I beg of you to transmit this 
paper to the queen. ' ' The municipal brutally 
replied : 

*'That is no alBfair of mine. I am here 
to conduct you to the scaffold." 

**True, " the king replied, and gave the 
paper to another, who received it. The king 
then, taking his hat and declining his coat, 
notwithstanding the severity of the cold, said. 



21B MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

with a dignified gesture and a tone of com- 
mand: **Let us go." The king led the way, 
followed, rather than conducted, by his escort. 
Descending the stairs, he met the turnkey, 
who had been disrespectful to him the night 
before, and whom the king had reproached 
for his insolence. Louis immediately ap- 
proached the unfeeling jailor, and said to 
him, *'Mathey, I was somewhat warm with 
you yesterday; forgive me, for the sake of 
this hour.'* The imbruted monster turned 
upon his heel without any reply. 

As he crossed the courtyard of the temple, 
he anxiously gazed upon the windows of the 
apartment where the queen, his sister, and his 
children were imprisoned. The windows were 
so guarded by plank shutters that no glances 
from the loved ones within could meet his 
eye. As the heart of the king dwelt upon the 
scenes of anguish which he knew must be pass- 
ing there, it seemed for a moment that his for- 
titude would fail him. But, with a violent 
effort, he recovered his composure and passed 
on. At the entrance of the temple a carriage 
awaited the king. Two soldiers entered the 
carriage, and took seats by his side. The 
king's confessor also rode in the carriage. It 
was the 21st of January, 1793, a gloomy win- 
tei*s day. Dark clouds lowered in the sky. 
Fog and smoke darkened the city. The at- 
mosphere was raw, and cold in the extreme. 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 219 

Nature seemed in harmony with man's deed of 
cruelty and crime. The shops were all closed, 
the markets were empty. No citizens were 
allowed to cross the streets en fhe line of 
march, or even to show themselves at the win- 
dows. Sixty drums kept up a deafening 
clamor as the vast procession of cavalry, in- 
fantry, and artillery marched before, behind, 
and on each side of the carriage. Cannon, 
loaded with grapeshot, with matches lighted, 
guarded the main street on the line of march, 
to prevent the possibility of an attempt even 
at rescue. The noise of the drums, the clatter 
of the iron hoofs of the horses, and the rum- 
bling of the heavy pieces of artillery over the 
pavements prevented all discourse, and the 
king, leaning back in his carriage, surrendered 
himself to such reflections as the awful hour 
would naturally suggest. The perfect calm- 
ness of the king excited the admiration of 
those who were near his person, and a few 
hearts in the multitude, touched with pity, 
gave utterance to the cry of ** Pardon! par- 
don!" The sounds, however, died away in 
the throng, awakening no sympathetic re- 
sponse. As the procession moved along, no 
sound proceeded from human lips. A feeling 
of awe appeared to have taken possession of the 
whole city. The sentiment of loyalty had, for 
so many centuries, pervaded the bosoms of the 
French people, that they could not conduct 



/ 



220 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

their monarch to the scaffold without the deep- 
est emotions of awe. A feeling of consterna- 
tion oppressed every heart in view of the deed 
now to be perpetrated. But it was too late to 
retract. Perhaps there was not an individual 
in that vast throng who did not shudder in 
view of the crime of that day. At one spot on 
the line of march, seven or eight young men, 
in the spirit of desperate heroism which the 
occasion excited, hoping that the pity of the 
multitude would cause them to rally for their 
aid, broke through the line, sword in hand, 
and, rushing toward the carriage, shouted, 
''Help for those who would save the king." 
Three thousand young men had enrolled them- 
selves in the conspiracy to respond to this call. 
But the preparations to resist such an attempt 
were too formidable to allow of any hopes of 
success. The few who heroically made the 
movement were instantly cut down. At the 
Place de la Revolution, one hundred thousand 
people were gathered in silence around the 
scaffold. The instrument of death, with its 
blood-red beams and posts, stood prominent 
above the multitudinous assemblage in the 
damp, murky air. 

The guillotine was erected in the center of 
the Place de la Eevolution, directly in the 
front of the garden of the Tuileries. This 
celebrated instrument of death was invented in 
Italy by a physician named Guillotin, and 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 221 

from him received its name. A heavy ax, 
raised by machinery between two upright posts, 
by the touching of a spring fell, gliding down 
between two grooves, and severed the head from 
the body with the rapidity of lightning. The 
palace in which Louis had passed the hours of 
his infancy, and his childhood, and the days 
of his early grandeur; the magnificent gardens 
of the palace, where he had so often been 
greeted with acclamations; the spacious Ely- 
sian Fields, the pride of Paris, were all spread 
around, as if in mockery of the sacrifice 
which was there to be offered. This whole 
space was crowded with a countless multitude, 
clustered upon the housetops, darkening the 
windows, swinging upon the trees, to witness 
the tragic spectacle of the beheading of their 
king. Arrangements had been made to have 
the places immediately around the scaffold filled 
by the unrelenting foes of the monarch, that 
no emotions of pity might retard the bloody 
catastrophe. As the carriage approached the 
place of execution, the hum of the mighty mul- 
titude was hushed, and a silence, as of death, 
pervaded the immense throng. 

At last the carriage stopped at the foot of 
the scaffold. The king raised his eyes, and 
said to his confessor, in a low but calm tone : 
*'We have arrived, I think. " By a silent ges- 
ture the confessor assented. The king, ever 
more mindful of others than of himself, placed 

17— Antoinette 



222 MARtA ANTOINETTE. 

his hand upon the knee of the confessor, and 
said to the officers and executioners who were 
crowded around the coach: *' Gentlemen, I 
recommend to your protection this gentleman. 
See that he be not insulted after my death. I 
charge you to watch over him." As no one 
made any reply, the king repeated the admo- 
nition in tones still more earnest. 

**Yes! yes! "interrupted one jeeringly,*'make 
your mind easy about that ; we will take care of 
him. Let us alone for that." 

Three of the executioners then approached 
the king to undress him. He waved them from 
him with an authoritative gesture, and himself 
took off his coat, his cravat, and turned down 
his shirt collar. The executioners then came 
with cords to bind him to a plank. 

**Whatdoyou intend to do?" he exclaimed 
indignantly. 

** We intend to bind you," they replied, as 
they seized his hands. To be bound was an un- 
expected indignity, at which the blood of the 
monarch recoiled. 

"No! no!" heexclaimed,**! will never submit 
to that. Do your business, but you shall not 
bind me." The king resisted. The execu- 
tioners called for help. A scene of violence 
was about to ensue. The king turned his eye 
to his confessor, as if for counsel. 

**Sire," said the Abbe Edgeworth, **submit 
unresistingly to this fresh outrage, as the last 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 223 

resemblance to the Saviour who is about to rec- 
ompense your sufferings." Louis raised his 
eyes to heaven, and said : 

" Assuredly there needed nothing less than the 
example of the Saviour to induce me to submit to 
such an indignity." He then reached his hands 
out to the executioners, and said : " Do as you 
will ; I will drink the cup to the dregs." Lean- 
ing upon the arm of his friend, he ascended the 
steep and slippery steps of the guillotine ; 
then, walking across the platform firmly, he 
looked for a moment intently upon the sharp 
blade of the ax, and turning suddenly to the 
populace, exclaimed, in a voice clear and dis- 
tinct, which penetrated to the remotest extrem- 
ities of the square, " People, I die innocent of 
all the crimes laid to my charge. I pardon 
the authors of my death, and pray God that 
the blood you are about to shed may never fall 
again upon France. And you unhapp}- peo- 
ple — " Here the drums were ordered to beat, 
and the deafening clamor drowned his words. 
The king turned slowly to the guillotine and 
surrendered himself to the executioners. He 
was bound to the plank. " The plank sunk. 
The blade glided. The head fell." 

One of the executioners seized the severed 
head of the monarch by the hair, and, raising 
the bloody trophy of their triumph, showed it 
to the shuddering throng, while the blood 
dripped from it on the scaffold. A few des- 



224 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

peradoes dipped their sabers and the points of 
their pikes in the blood, and, waving them in 
the air, shouted *'Vive la Eepnblique!" The 
multitude, however, responded not to the cry. 
Explosions of artillery announced to the dis- 
tant parts of the city that the sacrifice was 
consummated. The remains of the monarch 
were conveyed on a covered cart to the ceme- 
tery of the Madeleine, and lime was thrown 
into the grave, that the body might be speedily 
and entirely consumed. 

Over the grave where he was buried Napo- 
leon subsequently began the splendid temple 
of glory, in commemoration of the monarch 
and other victims who fell in the Revolution. 
The completion of the edifice was frustrated 
by the fall of Napoleon. The Bourbons, how- 
ever, on their restoration to the throne, fin- 
ished the building, and it is now called the 
Church of the Madeleine, and it constitutes 
one of the most beautiful structures of Paris. 
The spot on which the monarch fell is now 
marked by a colossal obelisk of blood-red 
granite, which the French government, in 
1833, transported from Thebes, in Upper 
Egypt. Louis was unquestionably one of the 
most conscientious and upright sovereigns who 
ever sat upon a throne. He loved his people, 
and earnestly desired to do everything in his 
power to promote their welfare. And it can 
hardly be doubted that he was guided through 



EXECUTION OF THE KING. 



225 



life, and sustained through the awful trial of 
his death, by the principle of sincere piety. 




Church of the Madeleine. 
The tidings of his execution sent a thrill of 
horror through Europe, and fastened such a 
stigma upon republicanism as to pave the way 
for the re-erection of the throne. 




CHAPTEE XI. 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF MABIA ANTOINETTE. 

While the king was suffering upon the 
guillotine, the queen, with Madame Elizabeth 
and the children, remained in their prison, in 
the endurance of anguish as severe as could be 
laid upon human hearts. The queen was 
plunged into a continued succession of swoons, 
and when she heard the booming of the artil- 
lery, which announced that the fatal ax had 
fallen and that her husband was headless, her 
companions feared that her life was also, at the 
same moment to be extinguished. Soon the 
rumbling of wheels, the rolling of heavy pieces 
of cannon, and the shouts of the multitude 
penetrating through the bars of her cell, pro- 
claimed the return of the procession from the 
scene of death. The queen was extremely anx- 
ious to be informed of all the details of the 
last moments of the king, but her foes refused 
her even this consolation. 

Days and nights now lingered slowly along, 
while the captives were perishing in monoto- 
nous misery. The severity of their imprison- 
ment was continually increased by new depri- 

226 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 227 

vations. No comnmnications from the world 
without were permitted to reach their ears. 
Shutters were so arranged that even the sky 
was scarcely visible, and no employment what- 
ever was allowed them to beguile their hours 
of woe. About four months after the death of 
the king, a loud noise was heard one night at 
the door of their chamber, and a band of armed 
men came tumultuously in, and read to the 
queen an order that her little son should be 
entirely separated from her, and imprisoned by 
himself. The poor child, as he heard this 
cruel decree, was frantic with terror, and, 
throwing himself into his mother's arms, 
shrieked out: '*0h, mother! mother! mother! 
do not abandon me to those men. They will 
kill me as they did papa. '^ The queen was 
thrown into a perfect delirium of mental agony. 
She placed her child upon the bed, and, station- 
ing herself before him, with eyes glaring like 
a tigress, and with almost superhuman energy, 
declared that they should tear her in pieces 
before they should touch her poor boy. The 
officers were subdued by this affecting exhibi- 
tion of maternal love, and forbore violence. 
For two hours she thus contended against all 
their solicitations, until, entirely overcome by 
exhaustion, she fell in a swoon upon the floor. 
The child was then hurried^ from the apartment, 
and placed under the Qfane of a brutal wretch 
whose name, Simon, inhumanity has immor- 



228 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

talized. The unhappy child threw himself 
upon the floor of his cell, and for two days 
remained without any nourishment. The 
queen abandoned herself to utter despair. 
Madame Elizabeth and Maria Theresa per- 
formed all the service of the chamber, making 
the beds, sweeping the room, and attending 
upon the queen. No importunities on the 
part of Maria Antoinette could obtain for her 
the favor of a single interview with her child. 
Three more months passed slowly away, 
when early in August, the queen was aroused 
from her sleep at midnight by armed men, 
with lanterns, bursting into her room. With 
unfeeling barbarity, they ordered her to accom- 
pany them to the prison of the Conciergerie, 
the most dismal prison in Paris, where those 
doomed to die awaited their execution. The 
queen listened, unmoved, to the order, for her 
heart had now become callous even to woe. 
Her daughter and Madame Elizabeth threw 
themselves at the feet of the officers, and most 
pathetically, but unavailingly, implored them 
not to deprive them of their only remaining 
solace. The queen was compelled to rise and 
dress in the presence of the wretches who ex- 
ulted over her abasement. She clasped her 
daughter for one frantic moment convulsively 
to her heart, covered her with embraces and 
kisses, spoke a few words of impassioned ten- 
derness to her sister, and then, as if striving 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 229 

by violence to throw herself from the room, 
she inadvertently struck her forehead a severe 
blow against the low portal of the door. *'Did 
you hurt you?" inquired one of the men. 

''Oh, no!" was the despairing reply, 
''nothing now can further harm me." 

A few lights glimmered dimly from the 
street lamps as the queen entered the carriage, 
guarded by soldiers, and was conveyed through 
the somber streets to her last earthly abode. 
The prison of the Conciergerie consists of a 
series of subterranean dungeons beneath the 
floor of the Palais de Justice. More damp, 
dark, gloomy dens of stone and iron the imag- 
ination cannot conceive. Down the^ dripping 
and slippery steps she was led, groping her 
way by the feeble light of a tallow candle, until 
she approached, through a labyrinth of corri- 
dors, an iron door. It grated upon its hinges, 
and she was thrust in, two soldiers accom- 
panying her, and the door was closed. It was 
midnight. The lantern gave just light enough 
to show her the horrors of her cell. The floor 
was covered with mud and water, while little 
streams trickled down the stonewalls. A mis- 
erable pallet in one corner, an old pine table 
and one chair, were all the comforts the king- 
dom of France could afford its queen. 

The heart of the wife of the jailer was 
touched with compassion in view of this un- 
mitigated misery. She did not dare to speak 



230 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

words of kindDGSs, for they would be reported 
by the guard. She, however, prepared for her 
some food, ventured to loan her some needles, 
and a ball of worsted, and communicated Intel- 
ligence of her daughter and son. The Com- 
mittee of Public Safety heard of these acts of 
mercy, and the jailer and his wife were imme- 
diately arrested, and plunged into those dun- 
geons into which they would have allowed the 
spirit of humanity to enter. The shoes of the 
queen, saturated with water, soon fell from 
her feet. Her stockings and her dress, from 
the humidity of the air, were in tatters. Two 
soldiers, with drawn swords, were stationed 
by her side night and day, with the command 
never, even for one moment, to turn their eyes 
from her. The daughter of the new jailer, 
touched with compassion, and regardless of the 
fate of the predecessors of her parents, entered 
her cell every morning to dress her whitened 
locks, which sorrow had bleached. The queen 
ventured one day to solicit an additional coun- 
terpane for her bed. "How dare you make 
such a request?" replied the solicitor general 
of the commune ; ''you deserve to be sent to 
the guillotine!" The queen succeeded 
secretly, by means of a toothpick, which she 
converted into a tapestry needle, in plaiting a 
garter from thread which she plucked from an 
old woollen coverlet. This memorial of a 
mother's love she contrived, by stratagem, to 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 231 

transmit to her daughter. This was the rich- 
est legacj the daughter of Maria Theresa and 
the Queen of France could bequeath to her 
child. That garter is still preserved as a sacred 
relic by those who revere the memory and com- 
miserate the misfortunes of Maria Antoinette. 
Two months of this all but insupportable 
imprisonment passed away, when, early in 
October, she was brought from her dungeon 
below to the court room above for her trial. 
Her accusation was that she abhorred the revo- 
lution which had beheaded her husband, and 
plunged her and her whole family into woes, 
the remembrance of which it would seem that 
even eternity could hardly efface. The queen 
condescended to no defense. She appeared 
before her accusers in the calm dignity of de- 
spair, and yet with a spirit as unbroken and 
queenly as when she moved in the gilded 
salons of Versailles. The queen was called to 
hear her sentence. It was death within twenty- 
four hours. Not the tremor of a muscle 
showed the slightest agitation as the mob, 
with clappings and shoutings, manifested their 
hatred for their victim, and their exultation 
at her doom. Insults and execrations followed 
her to the staircase as she descended again to 
her dungeon. It was 4 o'clock in the morning. 
A few rays of the dawning day struggled 
through the bars of her prison window, and 
she seemed to smile with a faint expression of 



232 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

pleasure at the thought that her last day of 
earthly woe had dawned. She called for pen 
and ink, and wrote a very affecting letter to 
her sister and children. Having finished the 
letter, she repeatedly and passionately kissed 
it, as if it were the last link which bound her 
to the loved ones from whom she was so soon 
to be separated by death. She then, as if 
done with earth, kneeled down and prayed, and 
with a tranquillized spirit, threw herself upon 
her bed, and fell into a profound slumber. 

An hour or two passed away, when the kind 
daughter of the jailer came, with weeping eyes 
and a throbbing heart, into the cell to dress 
the queen for the guillotine. It was the 14th 
of October, 1793. Maria Antoinette arose 
with alacrity, and, laying aside her prison- 
worn garments of mourning, put on her only 
remaining dress, a white robe, emblematic of 
the joy with which she bade adieu to earth. 
A white handkerchief was spread over her 
shoulders, and a white cap, bound to her head 
by a black ribbon, covered her hair. It was a 
cold and foggy morning, and the moaning 
wind drove clouds of mist through the streets. 
But the day had hardly dawned before crowds 
of people thronged the prison, and all Paris 
seemed in motion to enjoy the spectacle of the 
sufferings of their queen. At 11 o'clock the 
executioners entered her cell, bound her hands 
behind her, and led her out from the prison. 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 233 

The queen had nerved her heart to die in the 
spirit of defiance to her foes. She thought, 
perhaps, too much of man, too little of God. 
Queenly pride rather than Christian resigna- 
tion inspired her soul. Expecting to be con- 
ducted to the scaffold, as the king had been, 
in a close carriage, she, for a moment, recoiled 
with horror when she was led to the ignomin- 
ious car of the condemned, and was com- 
manded to enter it. This car was much like 
a common hay cart, entirely open, and guarded 
by a rude but strong railing. The female 
furies who surrounded her shouted with laugh- 
ter, and cried out incessantly: *'Down with 
the Austrian ! ' * * * Down with the Austrian ! ' ' 
The queen was alone in the cart. Her hands 
were tied behind her. She could not sit down. 
She could not support herself against the jolt- 
ing of the cart upon the rough pavement. The 
car started. The queen was thrown from her 
equilibrium. She fell this way and that way. 
Her bonnet was crowded over her eyes. Her 
gray locks floated in the damp morning air. 
Her coarse dress, disarranged, excited derision. 
As she was violently pitched to and fro, not- 
withstanding her desperate endeavors to retain 
the dignity of her appearance, the wretches 
shouted: ''These are not your cushions of 
Trianon." It was a long ride, through the 
infuriated mob, to the scaffold, which was 
yeared directlj in front of the garden of the 



234 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

Tuileries. As the car arrived at the entrance 
of the gardens of the palace where Maria had 
passed through so many vicissitudes of joy 
and woe, it stopped for a moment, apparently 
that the queen might experience a few more 
emotions of torture as she contemplated the 
abode of her past grandeur. Maria leaned 
back upon the railing, utterly regardless of the 
clamor around her, and fixed her eyes long 
and steadfastly upon the theater of all her 
former happiness. The thought of her hus- 
band, her children, her home, for a moment 
overcame her, and a few tears trickled down 
her cheeks and fell upon the floor of the cart. 
But, instantly regaining her composure, she 
looked around again upon the multitude, 
waving like an ocean over the whole amphi- 
theater, with an air of majesty expressive of 
her superiority over all earthly ills. A few 
turns more of the wheels brought her to the 
foot of the guillotine. It was upon the same 
spot where her husband had fallen. She 
calmly, firmly looked at the dreadful instru- 
ment of death, scrutinizing all its arrange- 
ments, and contemplating, almost with an air 
of satisfaction, the sharp and glittering knife 
which was so soon to terminate all her earthly 
sufferings. Two of the executioners assisted 
her by the elbows as she endeavored to descend 
from the cart. She waited for no directions, 
but with a firm and yet not hurried tread, 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 235 

ascended the steps of the scaffold. By acci- 
dent, she trod upon the foot of one of the ex- 
ecut-roners. 

/*' Pardon me! she exclaimed with all 
the affability and grace "with which she 
would have apologized to a courtier in the 
midst of the social festivities of the Little 
Trianon. She kneeled down, raised her eyes 
to heaven, and in a low but heart-rending 
prayer, all forgetful of herself, implored God 
to protect her sister and her helpless children. 
Shewasjeaf to ihe clamor of the infuriate-mob 
aroundjier. She was_ iPseD sible_tiO the dis- 
hono r_of_her_aga-apjifiiarajic», with disheveled 
locks^linding her eyes, and with her faded 
garments crumpled and disarranged by the 
rough jostling of the cart. She forgot the 
scaffold on which she stood, the cords which 
bound her hands, the bloodthirsty execution- 
ers by her side, the fatal knife gleaming above 
her head. Her thoughts, true to the irrepres- 
sible instincts of maternal love, wandered back 
to the dungeons from whence she had emerged, 
and lingered with anguish around the pallets 
where her orphan, friendless, persecuted chil- 
dren were entombed. Her last prayer was the 
prayer of agony. She rose from her knees, 
and, turning her eyes toward the tower of the 
temple, and speaking in tones which would 
have pierced any hearts but those which sur- 
rounded her, exclaimed : ** Adieu! adieu! onco 

18— Antoinette 



236 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

again; my dear children. I go to rejoin your 
father.'* 

She was bound to the plank. Slowly it de- 
scended till the neck of the queen was brought 
under the groove down which the fatal ax was 
to glide. The executioner, hardened by deeds 
of daily butchery, could not look upon this 
spectacle of the misery of the Queen of France 
unmoved. His hand trembled as he endeav- 
ored to disengage the ax, and there was a 
moment's delay. The ax fell. The dissevered 
head dropped into the basket placed to receive 
it. The executioner seized it by the hair, 
gushing with blood, raised it high above his 
head and walked around the elevated platform 
of the guillotine, exhibiting the bloody trophy 
to the assembled multitude. One long shout 
of *'Yive la Eepublique!" rent the air, and 
the long and dreadful tragedy of the life of 
Maria Antoinette was closed. 

The remains of the queen were thrown into a 
pine coffin and hurried to an obscure burial. 
Upon the records of the Church of La Made- 
leine we now read the charge, ^^For the coffin 
of the Widow Cajpetj seven francs,^ ^ 




CHAPTEE XII. 



THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH, THE DAUPHIN, AND THE 
PRINCESS ROYAL. 

When Maria Antoinette was taken from the 
temple and consigned to the dungeons of the 
Conciergerie, there to await her trial for her 
life, the dauphin was imprisoned by himself, 
though but a child seven years of age, in a 
gloomy cell, where he was entirely excluded 
from any communication with his aunt and 
sister. The two latter princesses remained in 
the room from which the queen had been taken. 
They were, however, in the most painful un- 
certainty respecting her fate. Their jailers 
were commanded to give them no information 
whatever respecting the external world. Their 
prison was a living tomb, in which they were 
allowed to breathe, and that was all. The 
Princess Elizabeth had surmised, from various 
little incidents, what had been the fate of the 
queen; but she tried to cheer the young, and 
affectionate, and still beautiful child with the 
hope that her mother yet lived, and that they 
might meet again. Eight months of the most 
dreary captivity rolled slowly away. It was 

237 



238 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

winter, and yet they were allowed no fire to 
dispel the gloom and the chill of their cell. 
They were deprived of all books. They were 
not allowed the use of pens or paper. The 
long winter nights came. In their cell there 
was but a few hours during which the rays of 
the sun struggled faintly through the barred 
windows. Nighty long, dismal, impenetrable, 
like that of Egypt, enveloped them for fifteen 
hours. They counted the strokes of the clocks 
in the distant churches. They listened to the 
hum of the vast and mighty metropolis like 
the roar of the surf upon the shore. Eeflec- 
tions full of horror crowded upon them. The 
king was beheaded. The queen was, they knew 
not where, either dead or in the endurance of 
the most fearful sufferings. The young dau- 
phin was imprisoned by himself, and they 
knew only that the gentle, affectionate, idol- 
ized child was exposed to every cruelty which 
barbarism could inflict upon him. What was 
to be their own fate? Were they to linger out 
the remnant of their days in this wretched 
captivity? Would their inhuman jailers envy 
them the consolation they found in each others 
arms, and separate them? Were they also to 
perish upon the guillotine, where nearly all 
whom they had loved had already perished? 
Were they ever to be released? If so, what 
joy could there remain on earth for them after 
their awful sufferings and bereavements ! 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 239 

Woes, such as they had endured, were too deep 
ever to be effaced from the mind. Nearly 
eight months thus lingered slowly along, in 
which they saw only brutal and insulting jail- 
ers, ate the coarsest food, and were clothed in 
the unwashed and tattered garb of the prison. 
Time seemed to have stopped its flight, and to 
have changed into a weary, woeful eternity. 

On the 9th of May, the Princess Elizabeth 
and her niece, who had received the name of 
Maria Theresa in memory of her grandmother, 
were retiring to bed. They were enveloped in 
midnight darkness. With their arms around 
each other's necks, they were kneeling at the 
foot of the bed in prayer. Suddenly a great 
noise was heard at the door, accompanied with 
repeated and violent blows, almost heavy 
enough to shiver the door from its hinges. 
Madame Elizabeth hastened to withdraw a bolt, 
which constituted an inner fastening, when 
some soldiers rushed in with their lanterns, 
and said to Madame Elizabeth: ** You must 
immediately follow us." 

**And my niece," replied the princess, ever 
forgetful of herself in her thoughtfulness for 
others, ''can she go too?" 

*'We want you only now!" was the answer; 
** we will take care of her by and by." The 
aunt foresaw that the hour for the long-dreaded 
separation had come. She threw her arms 
around the neck of the trembling maiden, and 



240 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

wept in uncontrollable grief. The brutal sol- 
diers, unmoved by these tears, loaded them 
both with reproaches and insults, as belonging 
to the detested race of kings, and imperiously 
commanded the Princess Elizabeth immediately 
to depart. She endeavored to whisper a word 
of hope into the ear of her despairing niece. 

*'I shall probably soon return again, my 
dear Maria. ' ' 

*'No, citoyenne, you won't," rudely inter- 
rupted one of the jailers; '*you will never as- 
cend these stairs again. So take your bonnet 
and come down." Bathing the face of the 
young girl with her tears, invoking the bless- 
ing of heaven upon her, turning again and 
again to enfold her in a last embrace, she was 
led out by the soldiers, and conducted down 
the dark and damp stairs to the gate. Here 
the soldiers rudely searched her person anew, 
and then thrust her into a carriage. It was 
midnight. The carriage was driven violently 
through the deserted streets to the Conciergerie. 
The tribunal was, even at that hour, in ses- 
sion, for in those days of blood, when the slide 
of the guillotine had no reposo from morning 
till night, the day did not contain hours enough 
for the work of condemnation. The princess 
was conducted immediately into the presence 
of the Revolutionary Tribunal. A few ques- 
tions were asked her, and then she was led 
into a hall, and left to catch such repose as she 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 241 

could upon the bench where Maria Antoinette 
but a few months before had awaited her con- 
demnation. 

The morning had hardly dawned when she 
was again conducted to the tribunal, in com- 
pany with twenty-four others, of every age 
and of both sexes, whose crime was that they 
were nobles. Ladies were there, illustrious in 
virtue and rank, who had formerly graced the 
brilliant assemblies of the Tuileries and of 
Versailles. Young men whose family names 
had been renowed for ages stood there to an- 
swer for the crime of possessing a distin- 
guished name. "While looking upon this group 
of nobles, gathered before that merciless tri- 
bunal, where judgment was almost certain con- 
demnation, the public accuser, with cruel 
irony, remarked: *' Of what can Madame Eliz- 
abeth complain, when she sees herself at the 
foot of the guillotine, surrounded by her faith- 
ful nobility ? She can now fancy herself back 
again in the gay festivities of Versailles." 

The charges against Elizabeth were, that 
she was the sister of a tyrant, and that she 
loved that royal family whom the nation had 
adjudged not fit to live. 

*'If my brother had been the tyrant you de- 
clare him to have been, ' ' the princess remarked, 
you would not be where you now are, nor I be- 
fore you. ' ' But it is vain for the lamb to plead 
with the wolf. She was condemned to die. She 



242 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

listened to her sentence with the most perfect 
composure, and almost with satisfaction. The 
only favor she asked was that she might see a 
priest, and receive the consolations of religion, 
according to the faith she professed. Even this 
request was denied her. The crime of loyalty 
was of too deep a dye to allow of any, the slight- 
est mitigation of punishment. From the judg- 
ment hall she was led down into one of the 
dungeons of the Conciergerie, where, with the 
rest of her companions, she awaited the execu- 
tion of their doom. It was, indeed, a melan- 
choly meeting. These illustrious captives had 
formerly dwelt in the highest splendor which 
earth allows. They had met in regal palaces, 
surrounded by all the pomp and grandeur of 
courts. Now, after months of the most cruel 
imprisonment, after passing through scenes of 
the most protracted woe, having been deprived 
of all their possessions, of all their ancestral 
honors ; having surrendered one after another 
of those most dear to them to the guillotine, 
they were collected in a dark and foul dun- 
geon, cold and wet, hungry and exhausted, to 
be conveyed in a few hours in the cart of the 
condemned to the scaffold. The character of 
Elizabeth was such, her weanedness from the 
world, her mild and heavenly spirit, as to have 
secured almost the idolatrous veneration of 
those who knew her. The companions of her 
misfortunes now clustered around her, as the 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 243 

one to whom they must look for support and 
strength in this awful hour. The princess, 
more calm and peaceful even than when sur- 
rounded by all the splendors of royalty, looked 
forward joyfully to the guillotine as the couch 
of sweet and lasting repose. Faith enabled 
her to leave the children, now the only tie 
which bound her to earth, in the hands of God; 
and, conscious that she had done with all things 
earthly, her thoughts were directed to those 
mansions of rest which, she doubted not, were 
in reserve for her. She bowed her head with 
a smile to the executioner as he cut off her 
long tresses in preparation for the knife. The 
locks fell at her feet, ana even the executioners 
divided them among them as memorials of her 
loveliness and virtue. 

Her hands were bound behind her, and she 
was placed in the cart with twenty-two com- 
panions of noble birth, and she was doomed to 
wait at the foot of the scaffold till all those 
heads had fallen before her turn could come. 
The youth, the beauty, the innocence, the spot- 
less life of the princess seemed to disarm the 
populace of their rage, and they gazed upon 
her in silence and almost with admiration. 
Her name had ever been connected with every- 
thing that was pure and kind. And even a 
feeling of remorse seemed to pervade the con- 
course surrounding the scaffold in view of the 
sacrifice of so blameless a victim. 



244 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

One by one, as the condemned ascended the 
steps of the guillotine to submit to the dread- 
ful execution, they approached Elizabeth and 
encircled her in an affectionate embrace. At 
last every head had fallen beneath the ax but 
that of Elizabeth. The mutilated bodies were 
before her. The gory heads of those she loved 
were in a pile by her side. It was a sight to 
shock the stoutest nerves. But the princess, 
sustained by that Christian faith which had 
supported her through her almost unparalleled 
woes, apparently without a tremor ascended 
the steps, looked calmly and benignantly 
around upon the vast multitude, as if in her 
heart she was imploring God's blessing upon 
them, and surrendered herself to the execu- 
tioner. Probably not a purer spirit nor one 
more attuned for heaven existed in France than 
the one which then ascended from the scaffold, 
we trust, to the bosom of God. Maria Antoi- 
nette died with the pride and the firmness of 
the invincible queen. Elizabeth yielded her- 
self to the spirit of submissive piety, and fell 
asleep upon the bosom of her Saviour. Our 
thoughts would more willingly follow her to 
those mansions of rest, where faith instructs 
us that she winged her flight, than turn again 
to the prison where the orphan children lin- 
gered in solitude and woe. 

Young Louis was left in one of the apart- 
ments of the temple, under the care of the 



THE Royal princesses. 245 

brutal Simon, whose commission it was to get 
quit of him. To send a child of seven years 
of age to the guillotine because his father was 
a king, was a step which the Eevolutionary 
Tribunal then was hardly willing to take, out 
of regard to the opinions of the world. It 
would be hardly consistent with the character 
of the great nation to poison the child ; and 
yet, while he lived there was a rallying point 
around which the sympathies of royalty could 
congregate. Louis must die ! Simon must 
not kill him ; he must not poison him ; he 
must get quit of him. The public safety de- 
mands it. Patriotism demands it. In the 
accomplishment of this undertaking, the young 
prince was shut up alone entirely alone like 
a caged beast, in one of the upper rooms of a 
tower of the temple. There he was left, day 
and night, week after week, and month after 
month, with no comijanion, with no employ- 
ment, with no food for thought, with no op- 
portunity for exercise or to breathe the fresh 
air. A flagon of water, seldom replenished, 
was placed at his bedside. The door was oc- 
casionally half-opened, and some coarse food 
thrown in to the poor child. He never washed 
himself. For more than a year, his clothes, 
his shirt, and his shoes had never been changed. 
For six months his bed was not made, and the 
unhappy child, consigned to this living burial 
remained silent and immovable upon the im- 



246 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

pure pallet, breathing his own infection. By 
long inactivity his limbs becaroe rigid. His 
mind, by the dead inaction which succeeded 
terror, lost its energy and became, not only 
brutalized, but depraved. The noble child of 
warm affections, polished manners, and active 
intellect, was thus degraded far below the or- 
dinary condition of the brute. 

Thus eighteen months rolled away, and the 
poor boy became insane through mental ex- 
haustion and debility. But even then he re- 
tained a lively sense of gratitude for every 
word or act of kindness. At one time, the in- 
human wretch who was endeavoring by slow 
torture to conduct this child to the grave, 
seized him by the hair, and threatened to dash 
out his brains against the wall. A surgeon, 
M. Naulin, who chanced to be near by, inter- 
fered in behalf of the unhappy victim, and 
rescued him from the rage of the tyrant. Two 
pears that evening were given to the half- 
famished child for his supper. He hid them 
under his pillow, and went supperless to sleep. 
The next day he presented the two pears to his 
benefactor, very politely expressing his regret 
that he had no other means of manifesting his 
gratitude. 

Torrents of blood were daily flowing from 
the guillotine. Illustrious wealth, or rank> 
or virtue, condemned the possessor to the 
scaffold. Terror held its reign in every bosom. 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 247 

No one was safe. The public became weary 
of these scenes of horror. A reaction com- 
menced. Many of the firmest Kepublicans, 
overawed by the tyranny of the mob. began 
secretly to long for the repose which kingly 
power had given the nation. Sympathy was 
excited for the woes of the imprisoned prince. 
It is difficult to record, without pleasure, that 
one of the first acts of this returning sense of 
humanity consisted in leading the barbarous 
Simon to the guillotine. History does not 
inform us whether he shuddered in view of his 
crimes under the ax. But his crimes were 
almost too great for humanity to forgive. 
Louis was placed under the care of more 
merciful keepers. His wasted frame and de- 
lirious mind, generous and affectionate even in 
its delirium, moved their sympathy and their 
tears. They washed and dressed their little 
prisoner; spoke to him in tones of kindness ; 
soothed and comforted him. Louis gazed 
upon them with a vacant air, hadly knowing, 
after more than two years of hatred, execra- 
tion, and abuse, what to make of expressions 
of gentleness and mercy. But it was too late. 
Simon had faithfully executed his task. The 
constitution of the young prince was hopelessly 
undermined. He was seized with a fever. 
The convention, ashamed of the past, sent the 
celebrated physician Dessault to visit him. 
The patient, inured to suffering, with blighted 



248 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

hopes and a crushed heart, lingered in silence 
and patience for a few days upon his bed, and 
died on the 9th of June, 1795, in the tenth 
year of his age. 

The change which had commenced in the 
public mind, preparing the way for Napoleon 
to quell these revolutionary horrors, was so 
great, that a very general feeling of sympathy 
was awakened by the death of the young 
prince, and a feeling of remorse pervaded the 
conscience of the nation. History contains 
few stories more sorrowful than the death of 
this child. To the limited vision of mortals, 
it is indeed inexplicable why he should have 
been left by that God, who rules in infinite 
wisdom and love, to so dreadful a fate. Eor 
the solution of this and all other inexplicable 
mysteries of the divine government, we must 
look forward to our immortality. 

But we must return to Maria Theresa. "We 
left her at midnight, delirious with grief and 
terror, upon the pallet of her cell, her aunt 
having just been torn from her embrace. Even 
the ravages of captivity had not destroyed the 
exceeding beauty of the princess, now sixteen 
years of age. The slow hours of that night of 
anguish lingered away, and the morning, 
cheerless and companionless, dawned through 
the grated window of her prison upon her woe. 
Thus days and nights went and came. She 
knew not what had been the fate of her mother. 




OQ 

O 
O 

>, 

"o 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 249 

She knew not what doom awaited her aunt. She 
could have no intercourse with her brother, 
who she only knew was suffering every con- 
ceivable outrage in another part of the prison. 
Her food was brought to her by those who 
loved to show their brutal power over the 
daughter of a long line of kings. Weeks and 
months thus rolled on without any alleviation — 
without the slightest gleam of joy or hope 
penetrating the midnight gloom of her cell. 
It is impossible for the imagination to paint 
the anguish endured by this beautiful, intel- 
lectual, affectionate, and highly-accomplished 
princess during these weary months of solitude 
and captivity. Every indulgence was withheld 
from her, and conscious existence became the 
most weighty woe. Thus a year and a half 
lingered slowly away, while the reign of terror 
was holding its high carnival in the streets of 
blood-deluged Paris, and every friend of royal- 
ty, of whatever sex or age, all over the empire, 
was hunted down without mercy. 

When the reaction awakened by these hor- 
rors commenced in the public mind, the rigor 
of her captivity was somewhat abated. The 
death of her brother roused in her behalf, as 
the only remaining child of the wrecked and 
ruined family, such a feeling of sympathy, 
that the Assembly consented to regard her as a 
prisoner of war, and to exchange her with the 
Austrian government for four French officers 

19— Antoinette 



250 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

whom they held as prisoners. Maria Theresa 
was led, pale, pensive, heart-broken, hopeless, 
from her cell, and placed in the hands of the 
relatives of her mother. But her griefs had 
been so deep, her bereavements so ntter and 
heart-rending, that this change seemed to her 
only a mitigation of misery, and not an acces- 
sion of joy. She was informed of the death 
of her mother and her aunt, and, weeping over 
her desolation, she emerged from her prison 
cell and entered the carriage to return to the 
palaces of Austria, where her unhappy mother 
had passed the hours of her childhood. As she 
rode along through the green fields and looked 
out upon the blue sky, through which the 
summer's sun was shedding its beams — as she 
felt the pure air, from which she had so long 
been excluded, fanning her cheeks, and realized 
that she was safe from insults and once more 
free, anguish gave place to a calm and settled 
melancholy. She arrived in Vienna. Love 
and admiration encircled her. Every heart 
vied in endeavors to lavish soothing words and 
delicate attentions upon this stricken child of 
grief. She buried her face in the bosoms of 
those thus soliciting her love, her eyes were 
flooded with tears, and she sobbed with almost 
a bursting heart. After her arrival in Vienna, 
one full year passed away before a smile could 
ever be won to visit her cheek. Woes such as 
she had endured pass not away like the mists 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 251 

of the morDing. The hideous dream haunted 
her by day and by night. The headless 
trunks of her father, her mother, and her aunt 
were ever before her eyes. Her beloved 
brother, suffering and dying upon a beggar's 
bed, was ever present in her dreams while re- 
posing under the imperial canopy of the Aus- 
trian kings. The past had been so long and 
so awful that it seemed an ever-living reality. 
The sudden change she could hardly credit but 
as the delirium of a dream. 

Time, however, will diminish the poignancy 
of every sorrow save those of remorse. Maria 
was now again in a regal palace, surrounded 
with every luxury which earth could confer. 
She was young and beautiful. She was be- 
loved, and almost adored. Every monarch, 
every prince, every ambassador from a foreign 
court, delighted to pay her especial honor. 
No heart throbbed near her but with the desire 
to render her some compensation for the 
wrongs and the woes which had fallen upon 
her youthful and guileless heart. Wherever 
she appeared, she was greeted with love and 
homage. Those who had never seen her would 
willingly peril their lives in any way to serve 
her. Thus was she raised to consideration, 
and enshrined in the affections of every soul 
retaining one spark of noble feeling. The 
past receded further and further from her view, 
the present arose more and more vividly before 



252 MARIA ANTOINETTE. 

the eye. Joy gradually returned to that bosom 
from which it had so long been a stranger. 
The flowers bloomed beautifully before her 
eyes, the birds sung melodiously in her ears. 
The fair face of creation, with mountain, vale, 
and river, beguiled her thoughts, and intro- 
duced images of peace and beauty to dispel the 
hideous phantoms of dungeons and misery. 
The morning drive around the beautiful 
metropolis ; the evening serenade ; the moon- 
light sail; and, above all, the voice of love, 
reanimated her heart, and roused her affections 
from the tomb in which they so long had 
slumbered. The smile of youth, though still 
pensive and melancholy, began to illumine her 
saddened features. Hope of future joy rose 
to cheer her. The Due d'Angouleme, son of 
Charles X., sought her as his bride, and she 
was led in tranquil happiness to the altar, 
feeling as few can feel the luxury of being 
tenderly beloved. 

Upon the fall of Napoleon she returned to 
France with the Bourbon family, and again 
moved, with smiles of sadness, among the 
brilliant throng crowding the palaces of her 
ancestors. The Kevolution of 1830, which 
drove the Bourbons again from the throne of 
France, drove Maria Theresa, now Duchesse 
d'Angouleme, again into exile. She resided 
for a time with her husband in the Castle of 
Holyrood, in Scotland, under the name of the 



THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 253 

Count and Countess of Main ; but the climate 
being too severe for her constitution, she left 
that region for Vienna. There she was re- 
ceived with every possible demonstration of 
respect and affection. 



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and struggles ; of his persistent solicitations at the courts of Eu- 
rope, and his contemptuous receptions by the learned Geographical 
Councils, until his final employment by Queen Isabella. Records 
the day-by-day journeyings while he was pursuing his aim and his 
perilous way over the shoreless ocean, until he "gave to Spain a 
New World." Shows his progress through Spain on the occasion 
of his first return, when he was received with rapturous demon- 
strations and more than regal homage. His displacement by the 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



Odjeas, Ovandos and Bobadilas ; his last return in chains, and the 
story of his death in poverty and neglect. 

THE STORY OF EXPLORATION AND DISCOVERY 
IN AFRICA. With 80 illustrations. 

Records the adventures, privations, sufferings, trials, dangers 
and discoveries in developing the "Dark Continent," from the 
early days of Bruce and Mungo Park down to Livingstone and 
Stanley and the heroes of our own times. 

The reader becomes carried away by conflicting emotions of 
wonder and sympathy, and feels compelled to pursue the st ry, 
which he cannot lay down. No present can be more acceptable 
than such a volume as this, where courage, intrepidity, resource 
and devotion are so pleasantly mingled. It is very fully illustra- 
te I with pictures worthy of the book. 

GULLIVER'S TRAVELS INTO SOME REMOTE RE- 
GIONS OF THE WORLD. With 50 illustrations. 

In description, even of the most common-place things, bis power 
is often perfectly marvellous Macau'ay says of Swift: " Under 
a plain garb and ungainly depjttmtnt were concealed some of the 
choicest gifts that ever have been bestowed on any of the children 
of men — rare powers of observation, brilliant art, grotesque inven- 
tion, humor of the mo^t austere flavor, yet exquisitely delicious, 
eloquence singularly pure, manly and perspicuous." 

MOTHER GOOSE'S RHYMES, JINGLES AND FAIRY 
TALES. With 300 illustrations. 

"In this edition an excellent choice has been made from the 
standard ficti )n of the little ones. The abundant pictures are well- 
drawn and graceful, the effect frequently striking and always deco- 
rative." — Critic. 

"Only to see the book is to wish to give it to every child one 
knows. ' ' — Queen. 

LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED 

STATES. Compiled frotn authoritative sources. With 

portraits of the Presidents ; and also of the unsuccessful 

candidates for the office; as well as the ablest of the 

Cabinet officers. 

This book should be in every home and school library. It tells, 
in an impartial way, the story of the political history of the United 
States, from the first Consiitutional convention to the last Presi- 



ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



dential nominations, it is just the book for intelligent boys, and it 
will help to make them intelligent and patriotic citizens. 

THE STORY OF ADVENTURE IN THE FROZEN 
SEA. With 70 illustrations. Compiled from authorized 
sources. 

We here have brought together the records of the attempts to 
reach the North Pole. Our object being to recall the stories of the 
early voyagers, and to narrate the recent efforts of gallant adven- 
turers of various nationalities to cross the "unknown and inacces- 
ible " threshold ; and to show how much can be accomplished by 
indomitable pluck and steady perseverance. Portraits and numer- 
ous illustrations help the narration. 

ILLUSTRATED NATURAL HISTORY. By the Rev. 
J. G. Wood. With 80 illustrations. 

Wood's Natural History needs no commendation. Its author 
has done more than any other writer to popularize the study. His 
work is known and admired overall the civilized world. The sales 
of his worl«»; in England and America have been enormous. The 
illustrations in this edition are entirely new, striking and life-like. 

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Charles 

Dickens. With 50 illustrations. 

Dickens grew tired of listening to his children memorizing the 
old fashioned twaddle that went under the name of English his- 
tory. He thereupon wrote a book, in his own peculiarly happy 
style, primarily for the educational advantage of his own children, 
but was prevailed upon to publish the work, and make its use gen- 
eral. Its success was instantaneous and abiding. 

BLACK BEAUTY; The Autobiography of a Horse. By 
Anna Sewell. With 50 illustrations. 

This NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION is sure to Command attention. 
Wherever children are, whether boys or girls, there this Autobiog- 
raphy should be. It inculcates habits of kindness to all members 
of the animal creation. The literary merit of the book is excellent. 

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS'* ENTERTAINMENTS. With 
50 illustrations. Contains the most favorably known of 
the stories. 

The text is somewhat abridged and edited for the young. It 
forms an excellent introduction to those immortal tales which have 
helped so long to keep the weary world young. 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. By Hans Christian An- 
dersen. With 77 illustrations. 

The spirit of high moral teaching, and the delicacy of sentiment, 
feeling and expression that pervade these tales make these won- 
derful creations not only attractive to the young, but equally accept- 
able to those of mature years, who are able to understand their 
real significance and appreciate the depth of their meaning. 

GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. With 50 illustrations. 

These tales of the Brothers Grimm have carried their names into 
every household of the civilized world. 

The Tales are a wonderful collection, as interesting, from a lit- 
erary pouit of view, as they are delightful as stories. 

GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR; A History for Youth. By 
Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 60 illustrations. 

The story of America from the landing of the Puritans to the 

acknozvledgment tmthoiit reserve of the Independence of the 
United States, told with all the elegance, simplicity, grace, clear- 
ness and force for which Hawthorne is conspicuously noted. 

FLOWER FABLES. By Louisa May Alcott. With colored 

and plain illustrations. 

A series of very interesting fairy tales by the most charming of 
American story-tellers. 

AUNT MARTHA'S CORNER CUPBOARD. By Mary 

and Elizabeth Kirby. With 60 illustrations. 

Stories about Tea, Coffee, Sugar, Rice and Chinaware, and 
other accessories of the well-kept Cupboard. A book full of in- 
terest for all the girls and many of the boys. 

WATER-BABIES; A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby. By 

Charles Kingsley. With 94 illustrations. 

" Come read me my riddle, each good little man ; 
If you cannot read it, no grown-up folk can." 

BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE. By 
Prescott Holmes. With 70 illustrations. 

A graphic and full history of the Rebellion of the American Col- 
onies from the yoke and oppression of England, with the causes 



ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



that led thereto, and including an account of the second war with 
Great Britain, and the War with Mexico. 

BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION. By 
Prescott Holmes. With 80 illustrations. 

A correct and impartial account of the greatest civil war in th ■ 
annals of history. Both of these histories of American wars '■ r 
a necessary part of the education of all intelligent American bo\ - 
and girls. 

YOUNG PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE WAR WITH 
SPAIN. By Prescott Holmes. With 89 illustrations. 

This history of our war with Spain, in 1898, presents in a plain, 
easy style the splendid achievements of our army and navy, and 
the prominent figures that came into the public view during thut 
period. Its glowing descriptions, wealth of anecdote, accuracy ■ f 
statement and profusion of illustration make it a most desirable 
gift book for young readers. 

HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY. By 
Hartwell James. With 65 illustrations. 

The story of our navy is one of the most brilliant pages in the 
w rld's history. The sketches and exploits contained in this vol- 
ume cover our entire naval history from the days of the hone>t, 
rough sailors of Revolutionary times, with their cutlasses and 
boarding pikes, to the brief war of 1898, when our superbly aji- 
pointed warships destroyed Spain's proud cruisers by the merci 
If ss accuracy of their fire. 

MILITARY HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES. 
By Hartwell James. With 97 illustrations. 

In this volume the brave lives and heroic deeds of our military 
heroes, from Paul Revere to I.awton, are told in the most captiva- 
ting manner. The material for the work has been gathered from 
the North and the Souih alike. The volume presents all the im- 
portant f .cts in a manner enabling the young people of our united 
and prosperous land to easily become familiar with the command- 
ing figures that have arisen in our military history. 

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; or Life Among the Lowly. By 
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. With 90 illustrations. 



ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



The unfailing interest in the famous old stjry suggested the need 
"of an edition specially prepared for young readers, and elaborately 
illustrated. This edition completely fills that want. 

SEA KINGS AND NAVAL HEROES. By Hartwell 
James. With 50 illustrations. 

The mo^t famous sea battles of the world, with sketches of the 
lives, enterprises and achievements of men who have become fam- 
ous in naval history. They are stories of brave lives in times of 
trial and danger, charmingly told for young people. 

POOR BOYS' CHANCES. By John Habberton. With 

50 illustrations. 

There is a fascination about the. writings of the author of 
" Helen's Babies," from which none can escape. In this charm- 
ing volume, Mr. Habberton tells the boys of America how they 
can attain the highest positions in the land, without the struggles 
and privations endured by poor boys who rose to eminence and 
fame in former limes. 

ROMULUS, the Founder of Rome. By Jacob Abbott. 
With 49 illustrations. 

In a plain and connected narrative, the author tells the stories 
of the founder of Rome and his great ancestor, /Eneas. These 
are of necessity somewhat legendary in character, but are pre- 
sented precisely- as they have come down to us from ancient times. 
They are prefaced by an account of the life and inventions of Cad- 
mus, the " Father of the Alphabet," as he is often called. 

CYRUS THE GREAT, the Founder of the Persian Empire. 

By Jacob Abbott. With 40 illustrations. 

For nineteen hundred years, the story of the founder of the an- 
cient Persian empire has been read by every generation of man- 
kind. The story of the life and actions of Cyrus, as told by the 
author, presents vivid pictures of the magnificence of a monarchy 
that rose about five hundred years before the Christian era, and 
rolled on in undistarbj.l magnitude and glory for many centuries. 

ADVENTURES IN TOYLAND. By Edith King Hull. 

With 70 illustrations by Alice B. Woodward. 

The sayings and doings of the dwellers in toyland, related by 
one of them to a dear little girl. It is a delightful book for chil- 
dren, and admirably illustrated. 



8 ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 

DARIUS THE GREAT, King of the Medes and Persians. 
By Jacob Abbott. With 34 illustrations. 

No great exploits marked the career of this monarch, who was 
at one time the absolute sovereign of nearly one-half of the world. 
He reached his high position by a stratagem, and left behind him 
no strong impressions of personal character, yet, the history of his 
life and reign should be read along with those of Cyrus, Caesar, 
Hannibal and Alexander. 

XERXES THE GREAT, King of Persia. By Jacob Ab- 
bott. With 39 illustrations. 

For ages the name of Xerxes has been associated in the minds 
of men with the idea of the highest attainable human magnificence 
and grandeur. He was the sovereign of the ancient Persian em- 
pire at the height of its prosperity and power. The invasion of 
Greece by the Persian hordes, the battle of Thermopylae, the burn- 
ing of Athens, and the defeat of the Persian galleys at Salamis are 
chapters of thrilling interest. 

THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE. By Miss 
Mulock, author of John Halifax, Gentleman, etc. With 
18 illustrations. 

One of the best of Miss Murlock's charming stories for children. 
All the situations are amusing and are sure to please youthful 
readers. 

ALEXANDER THE GREAT, King of Macedon. By 

Jacob Abbott. With 51 illustrations. 

Born heir to the throne of Macedon, a country on the confines 
of Europe and Asia, Alexander crowded into a brief career of 
twelve years a brilliant series of exploits. The readers of to-day 
, will find pleasure and profit in the history of Alexander the Great, 
a potentate before whom ambassadors and princes from nearly all 
the nations of the earth bowed in humility. 

PYRRHUS, King of Epirus. By Jacob Abbott. With 45 

illustrations. 

The story of Pyrrhus is one of the ancient narratives which has 
been told and retold for many centuries in the literature, eloquence 
and poetry of all civilized nations. While possessed of extraordi- 
nary ability as a military leader, Pyrrhus actually accomplished 
nothing, but did mischief on a gigantic scale. He was naturally 



ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



of a noble and generous spirit, but only succeded in perpetrating 
crimes against the peace and welfare of mankind. 

HANNIBAL, the Carthaginian. By Jacob Abbott. With 
37 illustrations. 

Hannibal's distinction as a warrior was gained during the des- 
perate contests between Rome and Carthage, known as the Punic 
wars. Entering the scene when his country was engaged in peace- 
ful traffic with the various countries of the known world, he turned 
its energies into military aggression, conquest and war, becoming 
himself one of the greatest military heroes the world has ever 
known. 

MIXED PICKLES. By Mrs. E. M. Field. With 31 illus- 
trations by T. Pym. 

A remarkably entertaining story for young people. The reader 
is introduced to a charming little girl whose mishaps while trying 
to do good are very appropriately termed " Mixed Pickles." 

JULIUS C^SAR, the Roman Conqueror. By Jacob Ab- 
bott. With 44 illustrations. 

^ The life and actions of Julius C^sar embrace a period in Roman 
history beginning with the civil wars of Marius and Sylla and end- 
ing with the tragic death of Caesar Imperator. The work is an 
accurate historical account of the life and times of one of the great 
military figures in history, in fact, it is history itself, and as such is 
especially comm.ended to the readers of the present generation. 

ALFRED THE GREAT, of England. By Jacob Abbott. 
With 40 illustrations. 

In a certain sense, Alfred appears in history as the founder of 
the British monarchy : his predecessors having governed more like 
savage chieftains than English kings. The work has a special 
value for young readers, for the character of Alfred was that of an 
honest, conscientious and far-seeing statesman. The romantic 
story of Godwin furnishes the concluding chapter of the volume. 

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, of England. By Jacob 
Abbott. With 43 illustrations. 

The life and times of William of Normandy have always been a 
fruitful theme for the historian. War and pillage and conquest 
were at least a part of the everyday business of men in both Eng- 



lO ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 

land and France : and the story of William as told by the author 
of this volume makes some of the most fascinating pages in his- 
tory. It is especially delightful to young reader?. 

HERNANDO CORTEZ, the Conqueror of Mexico. By 
Jacob Abbott. With 30 illustrations. 

In this volume the author gives vivid pictures of the wild and 
adventurous career of Cortez and his companions in the conquest 
of Mexico. Many good motives were united with those of ques- 
tionable character, in the prosecution of his enterprise, but in 
those days it was a matter of national ambition to enlarge the 
boundaries of nations and to extend their commerce at any cost. 
The career of Cortez is one of absorbing interest. 

THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE. B)^ Miss Mulock. With 
24 illustrations. 

The author styles it "x\ Parable for Old and Young." It is in her 
happiest vein and delightfully interesting, especially to youthful 
readers. 

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. By Jacob Abbott. With 
45 illustrations. 

The story of Mary Stuart holds a prominent place in the present 
series of historical narrations. It has had many tellings, for the 
melancholy story of the unfortunate queen has always held a high 
placi in the estimation of successive generations of readers. Her 
story is full of romance and pathos, and the reader is carried along 
by conflicting emotions of wonder and sympathy. 

QUEEN ELIZABETH, of England. By Jacob Abbott. 

With 49 illustrations. 

In strong contrast to the story of Mary, Queen of Scots, is that 
, of Elizabeth, Queen of England. They were cousins, yet im- 
placaMe foes. Elizabeth's reign was in many ways a glorious ore, 
and her successes gained her the applause of the world. Tlic 
stirring tales of Drake, Hawkins and other famous mariners of 
her iime have been incorporated into the story of Elizabeth's life 
and reign. 

KING CHARLES THE FIRST, of England. By Jacob 
Abbott. With 41 illustrations. 

The well-known figures in the stormy reign of Charles I. are 
brought forward in this narrative of his life and times. It is his- 
tory lold in the most fascinating manner, and embraces the early 



ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. II 



life of Charles ; the court of James I.; struggles between Charles 
and the Parliament ; the Civil war ; the trial and execution of the 
king. The narrative is impartial and holds the attention of the 
reader. 

KING CHARLES THE SECOND, of England. By Jacob 
Abbott. With ^S illustrations. 

Beginning with his infancy, the life of the «' Merry Monarch " 
is related in the author's inimitable style. His reign was signal- 
ized by many disastrous events, besides those that related to his 
personal troubles and embarrassments. There were unfortunate 
wars ; naval defeats ; dangerous and disgraceful plots and con- 
spiracies. Trobule sat very lightly on the shoulders of Charles II., 
however, and the cares of state were easily forgotten in the society 
of his court and dogs. 

THE SLEEPY KING. By Aubrey Hopwood and Seymour 

Hicks. With 77 illustrations by Maud Trelawney. 

A charmingly- told Fairy Tale, full of delight and entertain- 
ment. ^ The illustrations are original and striking, adding greatly 
to the interest of the text. 

MARIA ANTOINETTE, Queen of France. By John S. G. 
Abbott. With 42 illustrations. 

The tragedy of Maria Antoinette is one of the most mournful in 
the history of the worid. " Her beauty dazzled the whole king- 
dom," says Laraartine. Her lofty and unbendin<j; spirit under 
unspeakable indignities and atrocities, enlists and holds the sympa- 
thies of the readers of to-day, as it has done in the past. 

MADAME ROLAND, A Heroine of the French Revolution. 
By Jacob Abbott. With 42 illustrations. 

The French Revolution developed few, if any characters more 
worthy of notice than that of Madame Roland. The absence of 
playmates, in her youth, inspired her with an insatiate thirst for 
knowledge, and books became her constant companions in every 
unoccupied hour. She fell a martyr to the tyrants of the French 
Revolution, but left behind her a career full of instruction that 
never fails to impress itself upon the reader. 

JOSEPHINE, Empress of France. By Jacob Abbott. With 
40 illustrations. 



12 ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 

_ 

Maria Antoinette beheld the dawn of the French Revoluiion ; 
Madame Roland perished under the lurid glare of its high noon ; 
Josephine saw it fade into darkness. She has been called the 
*' Star of Napoleon ; " and it is certain that she added luster 4:o 
his brilliance, and that her persuasive influence was often exerted 
to win a friend or disarm an adversary. The lives of the Empress 
Josephine, of Maria Antoinette, and of Madame Roland are 
especially commended to young lady readers. 

TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. By Charles and Mary 
Lamb. With 80 illustrations. 

The text is somewhat abridged and edited for yoimg people, but 
a clear and definite outline of each play is presented. Such episodes 
or incidental sketches of character as are not absolutely necessaiy 
to the development of the tales areomitted, while the many moral 
lessons that lie in Shakespeare's plays and make them valuable in 
the training of the young are retained. The book is winning, help- 
ful and an effectual guide to the "inner shrine" of the great 
dramatist. 

MAKERS OF AMERICA. By Hart well James. With 75 
illustrations. 

This volume contains attractive and suggestive '^ketches of the 
lives and deeds of men who illustrated some special phase in the 
political, religious or social life of our country, from its settlement 
to the close of the eighteenth century. It affords an opportunity 
for young readers to become easily familiar with these characters 
and their historical relations to the building of our Republic. An 
account of the discovery of America prefaces the work. 

A WONDER BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. By 
Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 50 illustrations. 

In this volume the genius of Hawthorne has shaped anew 
wonder tales that have been hallowed by an antiquity of two or 
three thousand years. Seeming " never to have been made " they 
are legitimate subjects for every age to clothe with its own fancy 
as to manners and sentiment, and its own views of morality. The 
volume has a charm for old and young alike, for the author has 
not thought it necessary to " write downward " in order to meet 
the comprehension of children. 

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